How The Tides Will Change
by White-Lily-Blossom
Summary: After Draco's fifth year in Hogwarts, he swore revenge on Harry Potter, who had caused his father's imprisonment and the Malfoy family's utter humiliation. But things are already changing, whether Draco acknowledges it or not, and those changes are goi
1. Prologue part one: Draco Betad

Desclaimer: All belongs to JKR, folks. 

Warnings: So far, none; will be SLASH eventually.

Summary: First chapter (or first part of the prologue, if you prefere), in which Draco is all huffy and revengful.

This chapter is dedicated to **Fishie**, and all other aquatic life :grin:

"_I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Malfoy's mother's face when he gets off the train," -Ernie Macmillan, OotP. _I only planned on doing them in the first two chapters, really, since they serve as prologue, and therefore are sort of attached to the fifth book.

Draco opened his eyes, and then blinked in the darkness. His head ached, like he had hit it on something This was redundant, as your head usually only aches if you hit it-that's not true. There's a headache born out of sickness, which feels completely different than one that is a result of a hit to the head. and his throat was dry and sore. There was also a hard, flat surface under his back, which felt harsh against his shoulder blades.

He weakly pushed himself to a sitting position, and closed his eyes as a spell of dizziness attacked him. He blinked again and shadows swam before his eyes. "Crabbe?" he tried when the world was still again, and winced at the sound of his barely recognizable words. "Goyle?"

The only sound he could hear was his own loud breaths. He felt hot and clammy, and the dizziness still hadn't completely left him. He touched his forehead with his hand, and froze in horror – it felt as if his forehead was full of little bumps and tentacle-like growths. Growths that oozed slime on his fingers when touched. "What happened?" he whispered to himself.

Potter, of course. He should have remembered. He should have known not to attack the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived on the train, when every compartment was full of adoring students, just waiting to jump on the first person to utter a bad word against Potter. But Draco had been so angry, so full of hate and rage. He had been blinded by his immediate thirst for revenge.

'_Revenge is a dish best served cold, Draco,_' a phrase his father often used came to mind. He forced himself to calm down, pushing the simmering anger beneath the surface.

Draco reached into his pocket for his wand, and felt a brief pang of panic when it wasn't there, but calmed when he found it next to his foot a moment later. "_Lumos_," he murmured, and pale light flared from the tip of his wand.

He was able to instantly recognise that he was in the baggage rack and smirked. Unintended though it was, his attackers had done him a favour: there wasn't much of a chance he'd be spotted here, a fact that saved him from much humiliation. Why not much?

He felt around in his robes and found his small, unbreakable mirror. _"For a Malfoy," _his father's voice echoed in his ears,_ "appearance is everything."_ Bracing himself, Draco looked in the mirror. What he saw made him blanch.

His face was almost unrecognisable. He was covered in what were indeed tentacles. His perfect hair was a mess, and covered in slime, and on his cheek, a rather large bruise was starting to form. "Well, Draco," he whispered to himself, mouth set in a grim line, "what are you waiting for?"

Ten minutes, quite a few counter-jinxes, and some cleaning charms later, he was back to his old self, except for a little dust and a small tear in his expensive robes. He had also concealed this bruise on his face with a charm charmed the bruise away; it wouldn't do for the rest of his House to see that he had been beaten by Potter and his ilk. He found Crabbe and Goyle in a nearby shelf and woke them up.

The sun was already setting and the train had already arrived in London; he'd been unconscious for a long time. He walked through the corridors on his way to an exit, peering into different compartments. They were all vacant. A House-Elf was waiting for him nervously on the platform, dressed in a towel bearing the Malfoy emblem and wringing its hands anxiously. Other than it, the platform was empty.

"Young Master Malfoy, Sir!" it squeaked as Draco neared him "Knock is waiting for Sir for so long! Mistress is saying to bring Sir back, and Knock is obeying, yes Sir! But Sir isn't here and Knock is afraid to go back without Sir! Knock is a good House-Elf, he is, Knock is waiting!" the creature looked ready to burst into tears at the end of its speech.

"Yes, yes," Draco snapped. He was already quite angry, and the creature's babbling was grating on his short nerves. The creature raised huge teary eyes to him. "Knock is to take Sir home," it squeaked, in such a small voice Draco almost didn't hear it. Draco nodded impatiently.

The House-Elf presented him with a small round stone, with a rough rune carved in the middle. It was a portkey, a family heirloom keyed to the Manor. Without Malfoy blood in a person's veins or a portkey, Apparating to the Manor was impossible. Knowing Knock would bring his trunk to the Manor, Draco grasped the stone without hesitation. The familiar pulling sensation surrounded him, and he felt his feet leave the ground.

His feet slammed to the ground, but he remained standing despite the impact. The Malfoy Manor stood before him; proud, cold and magnificent, in all of its marble glory.

The huge carved doors swung open as he came near them. He passed through them to the entrance hall. The floor was made of light green marble, polished to a dull shine by the ages of Malfoys who had walked upon it before him. The stone walls rose high above, curving inwards and creating a large dome made of glass and marble. On clear nights the stars could be seen through; but now, all Draco could see were clouds and a grey sky. He headed to the left of the two grand staircases at the far side of the hall, and continued to his rooms. The House-Elves would tell his mother he was home.

His rooms were at the north wing, the oldest part of the Manor. When he was young, he had rooms near his parents, who lived in the newest section, added only a hundred or so years before by Draco's Great Grandfather. The summer before he left for Hogwarts, he had asked to move here. They consisted of a large bedroom, a study, a guestroom and connected baths. All decorated in green, silver and dark wood, of course.

His trunk was already in the bedroom, emptied and stored; his clothes had been taken out for washing, and his belongings were set neatly in place. Draco took off his damaged robes, changed to a clean set, and sank down on his bed. He was home.

His mother came to see him a few hours later. She commented on how much he had grown, and how handsome he had become. But when she said he resembled his father very much, they had both closed up, and she left a few moments after, but not before telling him dinner would be served in a few minutes.

His father. The thought burned behind his eyes, in his mind. He couldn't help his father, not yet, but he could start trying. He had an entire summer to try.

The first thing he needed to do, he knew, was to learn some basic healing spells; a good wizard should always have the means to patch himself up in case no available Healer was found. The second thing he needed was to get in better shape. As much as he loathed admitting it, Pureblood wizards relied on magic too much. Draco tended to find history boring, but some parts were made clear to him since he was barely a toddler, drilled into his young mind; in the burning times, Wizards were burned. And without their wands, they were overcome easily. He knew most of the Pureblood families wouldn't have agreed with him; "Muggle fighting" was looked upon as crude and unrefined. Purebloods hated to acknowledge they were doing something- anything- wrong.

But Draco didn't plan to be easy prey, if he indeed found himself in such position.

Third, and the most important of all, to him, was to learn every curse and hex he could find.

The days after his return seemed to blend into each other. He got up early, for a morning run. In the first few times, he wheezed so hard he thought he would suffocate. By the second week, he could run a good two miles without getting too dizzy; by the end of summer break, he could run almost a full lap around the Manor.

He had borrowed his mother's healing books, first memorising the simple spells, to heal bruises and scratches. Then he moved on to cuts and even broken bones. He combed the greenhouse for plants to use in his potions, and made himself a small supply. He had also spent time lurking in his father's library, pouring over old, yellowed tomes and squinting at tiny, faded books and their tiny, faded writing. Every time he found something he thought useful, he marked the page and moved on.

Confident in the ability of the Manor's wards to conceal his underage magic, Draco studied around the clock, brewing potions in his study, murmuring hexes and curses under his breath, and later casting them on insects he found, not allowing himself rest until he collapsed at night in his bed, afraid of the thoughts that would invade his mind if he didn't keep himself busy. He took long trips in the hills near the Manor to find herbs the greenhouse lacked, digging up roots and carefully gathering flowers and leaves.

His mother came to visit him a few times, her face thoughtful and maybe a little anxious, but he paid her no heed and she didn't disturb him. It came almost as a surprise when the summer break ended, so wrapped up he was in his books.

He promised Potter he would make him pay, and pay he would.

Draco was ready.

_Father was right, of course_, he thought. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and he planned on having it frozen like ice, and having it well.

Well, what do you think now? Is it alright?


	2. Prologue part two: Harry Betad

Desclaimer: Not mine! Everything belongs to JKR, although I intend to borrow Harry and Draco for a bit of... fun. 

A/N: SO sorry about how late I was! First I had exams, and then I was working on it and my computer crashed before I saved it, and I really didn't feel like redoing it, and then I had exams again, and then... well, you know how it is. I promise I won't be as late with the next ones.

Second chapter (or the second part of the prologue, if you may), in which Harry wallows in self-pity and reaches a conclusion.

This chapter is dedicated to **Beth**, who was the first reviewer of this story. Thank you. Everyone else- thank you so much for your reviews, you have no idea how much they mean to me.

"_It hasn't really started yet," Hermione sighed gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. "But it won't be long now…"_ – Hermione Granger, OotP.

The drive back to Privet Drive was surprisingly uneventful. Uncle Vernon, still pale from his encounter with Moody, sat stiffly during the entire way, his eyes fixed on the road. Aunt Petunia held her head in her hands, and Dudley, in an effort to get as far as he could from Harry, tried to squeeze himself into the corner of the car, despite the fact that his stomach and thighs took over a seat and a half.

Harry, for his part, paid them no heed either. His mind was busy with thoughts about Sirius, whose loss was so recent Harry hadn't fully grasped it yet. He did know that the worst was yet to come, and what Hermione had said on the train about the upcoming war proved that. He was jerked back to reality when they pulled to stop in the drive.

His Aunt and Dudley hurried into the house, but to Harry's surprise, his Uncle grasped his trunk himself and, casting suspicious and panicked looks around, dragged it inside. "You write to those… people," he gasped, dropping the trunk next to the stairs, "and tell them everything is fine. I don't want to see any of them freaks around here, you hear me?"

Harry shrugged, and followed his uncle into the house. He picked up one side of his trunk and started to heave it upstairs. "I won't tell them anything if it isn't true." His uncle squinted at him, his face still quite red from the weight of Harry's trunk, as looked as though he was tying to figure out whether Harry was agreeing with him or not. Vernon eventually gave up, and Harry continued upstairs.

When Harry got to the top of the staircase, he Uncle called out "Which one of them was your Godfather?" The question caught Harry unprepared, although he should have expected it. He stopped at the top of the staircase, not turning around, not wanting his Uncle to see the pain on his face. "He wasn't there."

"Oh," his Uncle said. Then his voice turned nasty "I thought it was that scarred fellow, the one with the hat. He looked like a murderer to me,"

Harry gritted his teeth, not rising to the bait. He took a deep breath "I'll be in my room until supper if you need."

Harry put his trunk in his room, not feeling in the mood to unpack. Hopefully, he'll be out of here soon. There was no point in unpacking, really, if he'll just have to pack it all again in a few days. Suddenly feeling very tired, he threw himself on his bed. He was back here, at least for part of the summer, until Dumbledore announced it was safe for him to leave. Great.

_Now what?_

The first letter arrived the next day from Mrs. Weasley, saying they were working on convincing Dumbledore to let Harry come to the Burrow as soon as possible. She also gave him a heartfelt encouragement to write to her if he needed anything, however small or insignificant. Harry smiled to himself, feeling somewhat relieved, and with the joyful prospect of spending the next week already at the Weasleys, set down to do his summer homework. He wasn't feeling up to unpacking just yet.

The next letter Harry received, a few days after, when he was working on a Potions essay, was written on a much more somber note. It was from Hermione, and was a clear omen of how the war was about to progress.

'_Dear Harry, do you get The Daily Prophet now? …'_

Harry frowned.

_'If so, then I assume you already know. If not, I am sorry you have to find out like this, but I thought that after last year, you have a right to know what's going on. This isn't your fault, Harry, remember that. There was nothing you could do'._

Enclosed in the envelope was a story, cut from a newspaper:

'_Death Eaters attack- entire family killed'._

Harry swallowed, closed his eyes briefly, and continued reading.

'_The Macmillan residence'_ his eyes widened _'was attacked at approximately three in the morning'._

_Oh please, _Harry thought_, it may be selfish, but please don't let it be Ernie. Not him. Not another person I know…_

'_The Aurors who were alerted to the house by the neighbors found Allan (53) and Diana (50) Macmillan in their bedroom. Their children, Ernie (16)-' _Harry felt a lump form in his throat_ 'who was meant to start his sixth year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Margaret (9) were found dead as well. The Macmillans had an elder son, Robert (21), who was away on work that night…'_

The article fell from Harry's numb fingers. He should have expected it, really; now that the Ministry acknowledged Voldemort's return, there was no reason for the Death Eaters keep low anymore. Still, Ernie's death had hit a close target, much closer than Harry had expected.

_I never knew he had a sister. _Harry felt a sort of faded guilt. _I never tried to get to know him_. If Hermione was here, she'd tell him he was stupid, he knew. She'd tell him he had a people-saving thing.

'_This isn't your fault, Harry, remember that. There was nothing you could do' _Her words shouted at him from her letter, smudged blue ink on an ordinary stationery paper. He looked away, and the title from the newspaper stared at him from the floor. He felt sick. Had she really believed that? That it wasn't his fault? Or was she saying it just to make him feel better? Of course it was his fault. He was the one who failed to stop Voldemort, time and time again, who was stupid enough to fall for his trap and get Sirius killed. He was the one who made it possible for him to come back. To have a body again. To be powerful again.

He was the one who made it possible for him to kill again.

Harry gathered the paper from the floor, his face grim, and his narrowed. The Ministry and _The Prophet_ would just add Ernie's name to their list of Voldemort's victims and forget, but Harry wouldn't. He couldn't forget. Ernie's family would not be the first to die, nor the last; there would be more to come, but Harry would remember them all.

He carefully tucked the paperclip between some random pages of a book, and resumed writing his potions essay.

For the next three weeks, hardly a day passed without a letter from someone: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley and even some Order members. He also got a letter from Cho. She had apologized for her behavior the year before, and told him that she really did like him, but had been very confused. '_Yeah_,' Harry muttered to himself as he read this, '_I'm sure **you** had a really hard time.'_ She said she and Michael Corner broke up, and maybe he would want to try again?

Harry wrote back a polite answer, saying he was sorry, but everything was very confusing for him right now, and he was sure she would understand. He was surprised at how he felt nothing but relief when he watched her owl fly away with his answer.

Ron usually wrote about nothing Quidditch, Fred and George's joke shop and about Percy, who had come crawling back to the Burrow after Fudge admitted Harry was speaking the truth. Hermione's envelopes contained mostly pieces from _the Prophet_, which Harry dutifully read and then stored between the pages of his books. He told himself he didn't dread her letters, and convinced himself he didn't hesitate to open them. He didn't even bother to read what she wrote anymore, as all it the letters ever said was 'it wasn't your fault'.

His O.W.L. results arrived too. He glanced over them in disinterest before dropping them into his trunk to forget about them. Somehow, the idea of receiving an 'O' in potions didn't excite him as much as he thought it would. Becoming an Auror seemed more of a duty now than anything else, just another step in his life on the way to face Voldemort for the last time.

At night, he dreamt about corridors, and glass balls full of light, and of Sirius falling through the veil. Sometimes, he dreamt about a field of bodies, their eyes torn wide open, and all around him all he saw was grey, like the pictures from the newspapers that arrived folded neatly in Hermione's letters. He would have spent the rest of the summer like that, drifting in and out of reality, surrounded by books and letters and feeling only a dull sense of vengeance, if not for an old friend dropping by.

Harry was sitting in the kitchen one sunny morning, drinking orange juice and munching half-heartedly on a piece of toast. His uncle was at work, and his aunt and cousin out. He was just about to get up, leaving his almost untouched breakfast on the plate, when he heard a knock on the door. Frowning a little, he headed to the front door, opened it, and stared.

Remus Lupin smiled at him pleasantly from the front steps. He was dressed in an old brown coat and looking older and more tired than Harry remembered him. His smile faltered a little as he saw Harry, but he regained it quickly "Hello, Harry. May I come in?"

They sat in the kitchen, Professor Lupin held a steaming mug of tea, while Harry had a second cup of juice. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Professor Lupin cleared his throat. Harry looked up at him, an expression of attentive interest on his face.

"How have you been, Harry?" he asked.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead shrugged. "Fine."

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" At Harry's raised eyebrow, he continued, "You're very thin. Much thinner than you used to be." He sounded worried, albeit in a distant sort of way, and Harry had the impression his weight wasn't the only thing the professor was concerned about.

"I wasn't very hungry" he answered. The werewolf nodded "That's understandable, really. But you must take care of yourself- not eating will fix nothing".

Growing tired with the conversation, Harry nodded again. He wondered when the man would leave. He had things he wanted to do. Lupin looked at him sharply when he saw Harry's bored expression, and narrowed his eyes at him.

How have you been, Harry? And don't answer me 'fine' this time, because you obviously aren't."

Harry's eyes opened wide "What?" he asked. "Sorry? Really, Professor, I'm fine". Why wouldn't he leave?

"It isn't your fault, Harry."

The words struck a cord at him, and he fixed Lupin with a somewhat hostile look, feeling suddenly angry. "Not you, too! Hermione's been saying that to me all summer- she's been owling me every time he killed someone, and every time, that's what she says- not your fault, Harry!"

Professor Lupin seemed taken aback, "Well, it really isn't – "

"Stop it! You don't even believe that, so stop saying it!" Harry was standing now, almost shouting. He felt more alive then he felt for the last weeks, since the first letter about Ernie. His numbness faded, leaving frustration and anger and hatred behind, leaving Harry without the strange sense of peace he found since then.

"What? Harry, I don't blame you- that's ridiculous –" Lupin stammered, more flustered than Harry had ever seen him.

"Stop lying!" Harry was acting childishly, he knew, but he felt so confused, like he was about to drown in the whirlpool of his emotions.

"Harry "

"If it wasn't for me, Sirius wouldn't have been dead. Ernie wouldn't have been dead. Maggie, his sister, and their parents! I made that possible!"

"Harry!" His former teacher grasped him by the arms, shaking him. Harry realised he was crying, although he couldn't remember starting to. "That's it, get it all out…" Lupin said, sounding far away, as he gathered Harry in his arms. "I can't believe we left you here…"

After Harry calmed down, which took a surprisingly long time, he untangled himself from Lupin, feeling very embarrassed. "Feel better?" Lupin asked him, smiling gently, and Harry suddenly noticed they were almost the same height. He nodded. To his surprise, he did feel a lot better.

"Sorry, for…" he wiped his wet face with the palm of his hand "…shouting at you". Lupin waved it away "Nonsense. You needed it". His face grew serious. "Now listen to me, Harry. We all make mistakes. Even you. You are, after all, only human. You are not responsible for Voldemort's actions. You are not the one who held the wand that killed, nor were you the one who gave the order."

"But I made it possible," Harry whispered.

"It was anything but your fault." He sighed, "Look at it this way, if you hadn't defeated him when you were a baby, he would have won years ago. We are at war and people will die, but it is not because of you. You are hope, Harry, not doom. Not death. You," he took a deep breath "are the possibility of life."

Lupin left a little while after that, leaving Harry feeling conflicted; on one side, he felt less guilty, which was like a great burden lifted from his shoulders. On the other hand, Lupin had left him with a much heavier burden- the burden of responsibility.

'_You are hope, Harry. You are the possibility of life.'_

For a moment, Harry saw it, the desperate trust in those old and wise eyes, a trust he began to recognise a long time ago. Not the trust of an old teacher in his student, not the trust of a friend. It was the complete and utter trust of someone in a saviour. In a hero.

And at that moment, he made a vow; no more dwelling in self-pity, no more wallowing in anger and guilt. He had a world to save, however harsh that was. He wasn't a sixteen-year-old boy; he never had been just a boy, really.

He vowed to do anything he could, anything in his power, to keep that trust. He would not fail again.


	3. And so we meet again

Desclaimer: ah ah, not mine.

Dedicated to **Nikikeya-chan again** and **Eratosthenese**, for giving me the most heart-warming reviews I have ever recieved.

First chapter (finally! The first two were the prologue), in which the boys meet again, bicker, and lots of glares and woe are passed around.

---------

The morning of September the first dawned cold and gray. From his room in the Manor, looking out the large glass window, all Draco could see were washed-out skies and sad-looking flowerbeds. Winter had come early this year; the rain ruined all of his mother's flowers, the first heavy, surprising drops corrupting the delicate petals before the House Elves could put shielding charms on them.

He dressed quietly, hardly paying attention to his surroundings; He had nothing of interest here anymore, as all of his books and research notes were packed carefully inside his trunk. They were the only things that mattered now, after all.

Draco left his rooms and headed towards the entrance hall, his charmed trunk floating obediently behind him. He found his mother there, waiting for him, looking oddly nervous, too pale in her dark gown, her hair in a tight knot at the back of her head. Draco was used to seeing his mother in pastels, in whites and pinks and silver, sparkling and laughing in his father's arms. Mourning colours did not become her.

"There you are, dear" she said as she saw him, her face brightening. "I was afraid you'd miss your train, what with the way you were taking your time". She fussed with the collar of his heavy robes, smoothed his hair.

"Be careful, alright?" she asked, sounding tired, her fingers stilling on his neck "and write to me at least once a week". Then she smiled at him fondly, although her eyes looked through him "you're so handsome, now. Just like your father".

Draco remained silent.

"Well," she continued "have a good year, darling. Try not to get into to much trouble, please; it's hardly proper". She handed him the rune stone, pressed her lips momentarily to his cheek, a dry, precise sort of peck.

He nodded, gave her a short kiss in return, and clutched the handle of his trunk; and then he felt the pull behind his navel, the dizzy, slightly nauseated feeling he always got while using a portkey, and the hall was gone in a swirl of colour, along with his mother's weary face.

----------

He arrived at the platform with a few minutes to spare; the Hogwarts express was steaming gently in its place, in all its red, shining glory, the windows lit and inviting. Students bustled around the platform, dragging trunks and trolleys behind them, saying their goodbyes to their families, greeting friends they haven't seen in two months.

Draco squared his shoulders, raised his head high, chin sticking out arrogantly, and boarded the train. He ignored the looks students and adults alike directed his way, some careful and measuring, some downright hostile. He was above their judgment ("Only one of us can judge us, Draco. Only the old families, **the real wizards**, matter").

He stopped by his usual compartment, opening the door a little to look inside. Sure enough, Blaise Zabini was already sitting there, sprawled in his seat, his dark hair in his eyes. He looked up from his newspaper as the compartment door slid open, and grinned at Draco when he saw him.

"Hi. You're early. Need a hand with that?" he gestured to Draco's trunk. When Draco shook his head and stored it himself, he shrugged and returned to his newspaper.

Draco sat down across from him, feeling alert and on edge. This was it. Soon, and He'd have his revenge. Only a little more to wait. He took out a book and tried occupying himself until the others would arrive.

----------

Pansy and Crabbe arrived a minute or two after him, followed by an angry looking Millicent. As Pansy sat down, shaking raindrops out of her long, thick hair, Blaise raised an eyebrow at Millicent. "Which kneazle pissed in your porridge this morning?"

She snarled as she dropped heavily next to Draco, who wrinkled his nose disdainfully and moved away. "Ran into bloody Potter and his mudblood". Draco hid the little shiver of excitement that ran through him at hearing that name, while Blaise winced in agreement.

Goyle came in as the train started moving, his face red. "Almost missed the train," he grunted, as Crabbe shifted to make him room. Draco gave him a curt nod, before absorbing himself in his book for the next hour. Around him, conversation carried on.

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The Prefects' meeting was short, and Draco ignored the new Head Girl's speech, as it was mostly just a repeat of what they were told the year before; instead, he studied his nails, peering at Granger and Weasley out of the corner of his eye. The freckled oaf was even more gangly and awkward then before, all too-long limbs and too-big feet and hands, making Granger look petite and delicate in comparison. They both seemed drained and worried, shooting Draco and Pansy dark looks every once in a while.

Draco pretended to ignore them, and when they all left, followed them to their compartment. He'd return there later.

----------

Around noon, Draco could suppress his restlessness no longer. He tucked his book back in his bag and stood up, satisfied when Crabbe and Goyle stood up immediately, too. Having minions was good.

"You've gotten taller, Draco," Pansy commented, giving him a very suggestive leer. He just smirked at her and strolled out, Crabbe and Goyle blundering behind him.

The corridor was drafty, though well lit; Draco shivered, mentally thanking his mother, who insisted he'd wear extra thick robes today. In front of the right compartment, he hesitated for a minute, then relaxed. Nothing could go wrong; he was more than ready. He schooled his features into a cold sneer, and slid the door open.

Several faces turned to look at him; he saw smiles and grins before they faded as they saw him, turning into scowls. Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, the little girl Weasley, and… ah, there was Potter.

Weasley instantly turned the colour of an overripe tomato, his eyes narrowing. Draco thought it made him look cross-eyed, actually. Granger made a displeased noise, putting her hand on the redhead's arm; Longbottom looked caught between anxiousness and irritation.

"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, voice mocking "a meeting of Hogwarts' greatest idiots, already planning another stupid adventure?"

He was rewarded with angry hisses, but Potter just looked at him, his expression one of disinterest, before he turned his head away and resumed staring out the window.

Draco felt a pang of surprise, which quickly turned to fury; where was the emotional, easy to manipulate boy he knew? Last year Potter was so stressed, so easy to infuriate, that all Draco had to do was make a nasty comment or two. But now, when he intended to use that to his advantage, he found out that boy was gone. Those unnaturally green eyes looked at him for a moment, deemed him completely and utterly unworthy of attention, and moved on, forgetting about him.

Just like the second time they met. _I think I can figure out the wrong sort myself, thanks._ Absolute, total rejection. He wasn't even worth a glare.

If there was one thing Draco hated most of all, it was feeling inadequate.

"A stupid adventure that put your bloody father in Azkaban, where he belongs" Weasley finally managed to come up with something to say, breaking Draco out of his angry haze; He controlled his snarl, instead turning it into a smirk. His answer wasn't for the Weasel, though. He kept his eyes on Potter.

"A stupid adventure that got Sirius Black killed".

All eyes snapped to his face, wide and shocked; Granger's mouth actually dropped open. Almost as if they didn't notice they were doing it, all of them sneaked a look at Potter, awaiting his reaction with baited breath.

_Come on, Potter. Look at me; say something, come on already!_ Draco thought. Slowly, Potter turned his head to face Draco, his face devoid of expression. But oh, there was anger there, all right, flickering green and scorching behind those ugly glasses, burning through Draco.

He almost blinked in astonishment when Potter's voice was calm, leveled; Draco expected him to shout, with the strength of the emotion he saw in those eyes.

"You heard from your mother, I expect". Draco gave a stiff nod, suspicious. Sirius Black was his mother's cousin, though banished from the family years before Draco was born. They got a notice from the ministry, informing them of his demise.

His mother threw the letter in the fireplace without bothering to read it, and left the room.

"What's it to you?" Potter asked.

_He isn't angry with _**me**, Draco realized suddenly. _He isn't controlling his voice, making it calm despite his rage; he really isn't interested with me at all. _**He's bored. I'm boring him**

The thought made him clench his fists, grit his teeth. He forced himself to relax, to open his hands. "Nothing to me, like he was nothing to the rest of the world. Nothing to you, too, I presume, since it was you who got him killed; you might as well have 'Avada Kadabra'd him yourself".

For an instant, he saw Potter's eyes flare, felt a secret thrill of excitement. Any moment Potter would shout at him, hex him, even, and he would be familiar again, the same boy Draco could manipulate so easily-

"Get out".

"What?" the word was surprised out of him before he could think, and Draco felt a wave of self-hatred at his stupidity.

"Get out. Turn around, open the door, walk out, and close it behind you. Just **get out**".

Draco opened his mouth and closed it a few time, unprepared for the loathing he saw in the Gryffindor's eyes, for the rigid lines of his body, for the tiny curl of his lips he was obviously trying hard to control, baring his teeth just a little. For the intensity of the response.

"Fine," he answered at last, defiantly. _Fine? What was I thinking!?_ He was appalled with himself. By the time he came to his senses, he was already out of the compartment, the door closing behind him.

"What are you two looking at!?" he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle, who were staring at him with amazement. Stupidly. He stalked towards his own compartment, and after a few seconds of silence, heard Crabbe and Goyle's thundering steps behind him.

---------

Tonks dropped Harry at Platform Nine and Three Quarters with two minutes to spare. She appeared at the Dursley's door in the middle of breakfast, in Jeans, an orange T-shirt sporting the words "Aurors R Us", a wide grin and bright green hair that stuck up at every direction. There was a leather jacket on her arm.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said and winked at him after Aunt Petunia had been revived; "I'm here to give you a lift to the train".

Dumbledore wouldn't let him leave for the Burrow that summer, on account of it being too dangerous to both him and the Weasleys; Harry agreed and accepted the decision, but the Weasleys were still furious with Dumbledore.

"Hi, Tonks," Harry replied, peering outside and nearly swallowing his tongue when he saw the monstrous red motorcycle parked outside. "Err, is that yours?"

-----------

It turned out to be hers indeed, and Harry spent the first five minutes of the ride clutching desperately at her waist, a large helmet jammed on his head. But after a few minutes he relaxed and started enjoying it; it was almost as fun as flying, although in quite a different way. He even dared a whoop at one point.

Tonks stopped the motorcycle next to the platform, and Harry climbed off rather reluctantly. She handed him his shrunken trunk, which she had put in one of her pockets before, and ruffled his hair fondly.

"Take care, Harry," she said, climbing back on the motorcycle "write to me if you need someone to talk to, alright?" When he nodded and promised he would, she smiled and pinched his cheek "You cleaned out quite good looking, did you know that? Doesn't come from your Muggle side of the family, that's for sure".

And then she was gone, jacket flapping in the wind, leaving Harry puzzled and alone.

"Welcome to your sixth year, Harry," he sighed to himself, and holding his shrunken trunk firmly in his hand, took a deep breath and entered the platform.

-------------

He avoided looking at people as he walked towards the train, although he felt their eyes on him, wondering and admiring. Whispers rose as he passed, and he caught snatches of them: "-Fudge said he was right all along, poor thing-" and "-got Lucius Malfoy arrested, he did-". He gritted his teeth and boarded the train.

Hermione was waiting for him near the door. "Saw you coming through the window," she admitted, studying his face worriedly "how are you?"

He gave her a smile "fine. How are you?" She shrugged, smiling back. "Fine".

Someone shoved him from behind then, almost knocking him into Hermione; he braced himself on the wall on his arms just in time.

"Sorry," he told Hermione, who turned a little red and waved it away, ducking out of his arms. They turned around, meeting Millicent Bullstrode's biddy eyes, and Harry felt Hermione stiffen next to him.

"Ugh, Gryffindors in love. How nauseating" she said, pulling her trunk on board after her. "Spare me, will you? I've just eaten".

Hermione turned red again, this time from anger "you're hardly helping my appetite yourself, thank you very much". Millicent's lip curled in a nasty sort of way, which looked familiar. After a few seconds, Harry realized Malfoy used it all the time. Hardly in the mood for insults, he tugged at Hermione's sleeve.

"Let's go, it's not worth getting annoyed at".

They heard Millicent mutter "cowards" behind them, but Harry continued forward, pulling Hermione after him.

----------

They settled into their compartment, Harry unshrinking his trunk and putting it away. Ron greeted him enthusiastically, clapping him on the shoulder and bombarding him with questions, while Ginny blushed a little as she hugged him before returning to her seat. Neville smiled at him warmly.

"We've got to go to the Prefects' Carriage," Hermione said regretfully "but we'll be back soon. Grab something off the food trolley for me if it stops by, will you?"

After they left (Ron made Harry promise to buy him half the trolley, or so it seemed to him), Harry chose a seat next to the window, staring out. Soon, he was lost in thought.

----------

Ron and Hermione came back after a while, with Ron's face falling when he saw no food. "The trolley hadn't passed by yet," Ginny told him, rolling her eyes.

"Guess who's Head Girl," Hermione said, looking excited, and Harry tried to look interested "who?" She grinned "Katie Bell. We have a Gryffindor Head Girl this year- the Head Boy's from Ravenclaw".

Harry nodded and turned back to look out the window, at the landscape passing by. It started to rain again.

----------

Around noon, the inevitable happened.

"Well, what do we have here?" a cold voice came from the doorway "a meeting of Hogwarts' greatest idiots, already planning another stupid adventure?"

Harry heard Ron growl, but couldn't muster the energy to turn around for more then a brief glance. The rain outside was much more interesting, anyway.

"A stupid adventure that put your bloody father in Azkaban, where he belongs" Ron said angrily. He was probably going all splotchy and red again; he always did when he used that tone of voice.

"A stupid adventure that got Sirius Black killed". Malfoy's voice was pleasant, dry; as though he was simply commenting on the weather.

Anger flared inside Harry, abrupt and smoldering, and not all of it was directed towards Malfoy. He turned around slowly.

Malfoy was lounging against the door, graceful and perfectly at ease. His white-blond hair was immaculate, his robes expensive as always. But there was something new about him, something different, that Harry couldn't quite identify; something about his posture that implied a new strength, something about his eyes, which were like ice; his mouth smirked, his body was at ease, but he couldn't quite conceal the hate in gaze. Hate, and… triumph?

"You heard from your mother, I expect" Harry said. Malfoy gave a lazy nod, and Harry felt very tired. He really didn't have the strength for the Slytherin's games now; he had much more important things to think about.

"What's it to you?"

He noticed the tiny clench of Malfoy's fists before they opened again, although his face remained vaguely agreeable, and wondered a little about it. "Nothing to me, like he was nothing to the rest of the world. Nothing to you, too, I presume, since it was you who got him killed; you might as well have 'Avada Kadabra'd him yourself".

_Nothing to you, since it was you who killed him_. The words struck right on target. _Bull's-eye, Malfoy. Do you know me that well, or am I just that obvious?_

Disgust and an intense loathing welled inside him, a bitter taste in his mouth; he thought that himself, of course, but until now, everyone told him he was wrong, that it wasn't his fault. All he wanted was honesty, and that's exactly what Malfoy gave him; For once, he was nothing but honest.

And Harry found out he couldn't stand it, not now, not from Malfoy, of all people.

"Get out".

"What?" Malfoy asked, looking surprised.

Harry wasn't in the mood to be impressed with his acting skills. He wanted him out, out of his face, before he would break down and do something he regretted.

"Get out. Turn around, open the door, walk out, and close it behind you. Just **get out**".

Malfoy blinked at him, and then his face assumed a stubborn expression. "Fine" he said, and did just that.

Hermione stared at the closed door, voicing everyone's thoughts as she asked, "did Malfoy just-leave? Without any argument or nasty parting remark?"

Harry concentrated on breathing evenly, feeling a strange sort of panic "I'll be right back" he said at last, and before anyone could have protested, he was out the door and almost running to the train's loo.

----------

Draco glared at the pages of his open book, not able to calm down enough to read. Potter just- brushed him off. He couldn't even feel satisfaction because of the fact that he managed to make him angry; it wasn't him Potter was angry at.

_What happened to you, Potter?_ He asked himself. _And why does it bother me so much?_

----------

Inside a locked stall at the empty loo, Harry curled up, his head bowed, hugging his knees. _How am I supposed to save the world_, he wondered miserably, _if I can't even handle one irritating, spiteful schoolboy?_


	4. The start of a new year

Desclaimer: how many times do I have to say this? NOT MINE.

**Author's Rambling:** well, today I have my math finals! :: shudder:: wish me luck! If my next chapter isn't coming in, say, two weeks, know that I have failed, and thus, commited suppoku to save my honour and dignity.

Just kidding, really. Honestly.

This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has exams, finals, important tests or anything of the sort in the near future. May the force be with you.

Second Chapter, in which there is an opening feast, a first breakfast, a new DADA teacher, and the plot actually begins to unfold.

Or at least, the plot would have begun to unfold if I HAD any plot. Enjoy,either way.

Last thing- Is there anyone interested in doing Beta? Anyone? Just email me if you are.

---------

The train screeched to a halt. Draco shouldered his bag and rose to his feet, not sparing his companions a glance as he strode out. Pansy hurried after him "Merling, Draco, where's the fire?"

They secured a carriage, Pansy sitting on his left and Blaise on his right; Crabbe, Goyle and Millicent had to squeeze in the opposite bench, looking uncomfortable; Millicent kept muttering that Goyle was jabbing his elbow in her side. Pansy rolled her eyes every time, pretending to be annoyed, and inched a little closer to Draco whenever she did.

When they arrived at the Great Hall and sat down, Draco was still in a foul mood from his encounter with Potter on the train; he could only take comfort in the fact that Potter appeared to be out of sorts himself. He seemed to brighten, though, when Dumbledore introduced the new DADA teacher; Kinglsey something. The grin Potter sent in the man's way made Draco think Potter already knew him. He wondered how they met.

He dug into his food half-heartedly, not really hungry. In lack of anything better to do, he glanced at Potter again. He was saying something to Finnigan, their heads bowed together; after a minute, Potter laughed and shook his head, while Finnigan, looking pleased with himself, nudged him with his shoulder and continued talking. Draco, annoyed for a reason he couldn't really put his finger on, scowled and looked away.

-----------

He was more than a little drowsy when they finally reached their Dormitory. Wanting nothing more than to sleep, he changed clothes, brushed his teeth and got into bed. But despite his weariness, sleep eluded him for a long time, and he tossed and turned for the better part of an hour, while the steady breathing of his dorm members filled the silence around him. When he did fall asleep, his night was restless and full of dreams, though all he could recall at morning was a hazy memory of green eyes.

---------

He got up early, when the first rays of sunlight were just beginning to seep through the windows, and ran a few laps around the Quidditch Pitch, enjoying the cool morning air, the golden-pink hues of sunrise, and the peace around him. When he got back to the dormitory, Blaise was already awake.

"Where were you?" he squinted at Draco dazedly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Draco shrugged, peeling off his shirt and holding it at arms length critically "out. I'm going to take a shower now, so wake the others, will you?"

He left Blaise muttering darkly, but smirked to himself when he heard him try to wake the others anyway. He took a long shower, the water drowning out Blaise's exasperated yells of "Vincent, wake up, you great lazy bum!". He was already dressed when Blaise appeared at the doorway, clutching a towel and glaring at him; he had finished drying his hair and brushing his teeth when Goyle and Theodore Nott came trudging in, shuffling their large feet awkwardly.

"Hey, wait for me!" Blaise called to him as Draco smoothed his robes in front of the mirror and picked up his bag. Draco glanced at the watch that hung on the wall, deciding he could wait a little more "well, hurry up then". Blaise finished tying his shoelaces and grabbed his bag as well, stuffing his wand into a pocket.

"Right, set to go. I'm starving".

Pansy joined them downstairs, having waited for them, and the three of them walked in a companionable silence up to the Great Hall for breakfast.

----------

Their schedules arrived a little while after they set down, distributed by a sour looking Professor Snape. Draco thanked him, earning a tight-lipped smile, and glanced at the parchment. He scowled.

"Double Transfiguration, N.E.W.T level, followed by double History of Magic. Then double DADA- are they trying to kill us? Transfiguration and DADA are with the Gryffindors! There's only so much a bloke can take".

Blaise, who wasn't taking Transfiguration, smirked "tough luck, Draco". He looked utterly unsympathetic, and Draco made a face at him.

Pansy, though, let out a very uncharacteristic giggle "oh, I don't know," she said, raising an eyebrow "the view's not that bad".

They both frowned "what?"

Pansy passed her fingers through her hair, smoothing the black locks. "Seen Potter this year?" she said, giggling again "annoying prat, all right, but a very handsome one".

"Pansy!" Draco spluttered, almost spitting out his coffee in shock, while Blaise choked on his eggs. "How can you even- ugh- think that- gah- nightmares for weeks now-"

She gave him an injured look, lifting her nose high in the air "just because I hate him, doesn't mean I can't appreciate his assets, I mean, look at that-mmphh!"

"I swear," Draco gagged, ignoring the girl's glare as she removed the carrot he shoved into her mouth "that if you will say one more word about that four-eyed, lame excuse for a wizard, I will not be responsible for what I will do to you".

"Someone's cranky this morning," Pansy huffed, but dropped the subject.

Draco, deciding his appetite was ruined, at least for the few next hours, drained the last of his cup and stood up. "I'm finished," he told them "I'll see you in Transfiguration".

Blaise waved him off, but Pansy ignored him, instead opting for checking her teeth in her oatmeal spoon.

-----------

The classroom was empty when he arrived. He chose a seat at the back of the class, dropping his bag on the floor carelessly after retrieving his book, _Dark Potions_. He opened it where he stopped and continued reading. Draco wasn't worried that someone will catch him reading forbidden material- he had placed three strong glamour charms on the book, so anyone looking at him would think he was reading "Hogwarts, a History; Recent Addition".

Almost an hour passed in silence, the dry rustle of turning pages the only sound in the classroom, before Draco was disturbed by the sound of loud footsteps, nearing the classroom.

He didn't raise his eyes from the book, concentrating on looking totally relaxed, but in truth his ears were straining to hear every tiny noise.

More then two sets of footsteps, he thought, as he listened to the uneven pace. Probably three. A high voice- must be a girl- and a very low one- a male, low enough to be one of the sixth years. The third, though…

Then they stopped next to the closed door, and Draco recognized the girl's voice. Granger. He felt a tiny smile of satisfaction curling his lips at his correct deduction; three students, sixth years, a girl and two boys.

_Go me_, he thought, and turned a page.

The door opened, the hinges creaking, and the Golden Trio, as the school dubbed them, entered. They didn't notice Draco right away, as they were arguing in loudly.

"Merlin, Ron, don't be an idiot!" Granger said, placing her bag on a desk in the front row. Her back was turned to him, her hands on her hips. Weasley was looking at her darkly, his wide mouth twisted like he had just eaten something foul.

Potter came in after them, looking annoyed, but made no attempt to break the argument. He sat on a desk near them, his face in profile to Draco.

"Don't call me an idiot!" Weasley thundered.

Draco ignored them and studied Potter carefully from behind the safety of his book. _He looks tired_, he thought. Potter had dark circles under his eyes, as though he didn't sleep well. Draco felt smug about it; if he had a restless night, it was only fair Potter had one too.

Pansy's words surfaced then, and he scowled. Attractive? That? Potter's hair was messy and too long, some strands spilling over the collar of his robes. As the boy raised a hand to touch his forehead, his mouth tightening briefly in an almost invisible grimace, Draco caught a glimpse of his wrist.

_Ha_, he thought, _he has wrists like a girl. I can probably circle them with my fingers! How is that attractive?_

He closed his fingers around his own wrist, and frowned, feeling cheated somehow, as his fingers circled it without effort. He raised his eyes again, irritated. Well, Potter was scrawny, anyway. Draco was just slender.

It was than that Potter noticed Draco; he tensed, his eyes narrowing, and put a hand on Granger's arm, shaking his head. Granger and Weasley turned, surprise melting into scowls as they saw him.

Draco smirked at them and returned to his reading.

-------------

Harry and the others got off the train and into a carriage. The Thestrals turned their heads after Harry as he passed them, their white eyes following him silently, and he shivered. One or two even tried to nudge him with their bony noses, as though asking to be patted.

They entered the Great Hall and took seats; Harry found himself between Seamus and Ron. The Irish boy greeted him cheerfully, and Harry felt a little better. Everything was in the past, or so it seemed, and although Harry still remembered the time Seamus accused him of lying about Voldemort, he had forgiven him a long time ago.

Dumbledore made a small speech, about the victims Voldemort claimed during the last two months. Harry glared at him all the while, his resentment and mistrust in the old wizard growing as the minutes ticked by.

_Plays us like pawns_, he thought bitterly. _Uses us, keeps us in the dark when he deems us unworthy of knowing things, important things, even if they have to do with us._

_Even if it has to do with what is, apparently, my destiny._

Conversation resumed almost as soon as he Dumbledore finished talking, the unease broken by the introduction of the new DADA teacher. Harry was delighted to find it was Kingsley Shackelbolt, who had come to appreciate a great deal the year before.

He grinned at him, his depression ebbing away as Kingsley smiled at him in return.

"He looks scary," Seamus said good-naturedly, pausing in his eating as he caught the exchange.

"Kingsley?" Harry asked. "Nah, he's wicked".

"You know him?"

Harry hesitated, not sure how much he was supposed to say. He settled on something that was common knowledge; surely, that was all right?

"He's an Auror. Or was, until now".

"Really?" Seamus whistled, "Looks like one. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side".

Harry, who had seen Kingsley in action, agreed with him whole-heartedly.

"Well, he'll be pro-Gryffindor, then, wouldn't he?" Seamus said, and winked. Harry laughed, "If you're hoping that he'll torment the Slytherins, you're in for a disappointment. He's quite fair, really".

"Well, one can always hope," Seamus sighed, then nudged Harry "ha?"

---------

Harry was very tired when they finally finished the opening feast and left for Gryffindor Tower. He collapsed gratefully on his bed, face down, arms and legs spread wide.

"Hmm…" he said, his voice muffled because of the blankets "I missed this".

Ron grabbed the back of his robes, pulling him up. "Come on, Harry, brush your teeth first".

Seamus snickered as Ron steered a half-asleep Harry towards the bathroom. "What are you? His mother?"

His smile vanished, though, when Ron closed the door after Harry, and answered quietly "well, someone has to take care of him".

None of them said anything as Harry shuffled out of the bathroom, bid them goodnight, and toppled into bed, falling asleep on the covers.

They were surprised when Neville, who was the closest, walked over and pulled the blankets from under him, tucking him carefully in. Harry made a soft noise and snuggled into his pillow, and Neville turned to look at them, shrugging.

"Yeah," he said, smiling at Ron. "Someone has to".

No further conversations were held, except for the mumbled "night", but Dean stopped by and removed Harry's glasses, folding them neatly and placing them on the nightstand beside his four-poster, and Seamus closed his bed-hangings, half-way, on his way to the shower, because they all knew Harry liked waking up to the sunlight but hated having the sun in his eyes.

They all reached a decision that night, although they would never actually voice it aloud; they would take care of Harry, so he, in turn, would be able to take care of them.

-----------

Harry woke up to Ron shaking him. He blinked at him, dazed, seeing a red mop above a large, pinkish stain. Ron jammed his glasses on his nose.

"Morning, Harry!" he said cheerfully "time to get up".

Harry closed his eyes and buried his head under his covers. He was so very tired; his dreams were filled with staring, accusing faces, wide, empty eyes, and gray. He wanted nothing more then to go back to sleep, and no dreams this time.

Then his ankle was grabbed, and he was pulled unceremoniously out of bed. "Ngh!" he protested, but to no avail; Ron shook his head, his eyes twinkling, although Harry could see he was trying not to laugh, and shoved him in the direction of the showers.

"I hate you," Harry told him childishly, glaring, but went anyway.

---------

He found all his dorm mates waiting for him downstairs, along with Hermione and Ginny.

"What is this?" he laughed, "a personal escort?"

They walked down to breakfast, Harry feeling lighter than he felt since that night at the department of mysteries. Around him his friends laughed and joked, teasing one another (Seamus, mostly) and making crude comments (again, mostly Seamus, including one that caused Harmione to drop her book and gasp "Seamus!" while the rest of them turned a dark red).

He really was lucky to have them all, he knew. And he was going to protect them, even if it was going to be at the cost of his life.

Schedules were handed out as they set down. Harry glanced at his, forgetting his untouched breakfast "double transfiguration, then double Charms and Double DADA, all N.E.W.T. level! How am I supposed to survive this?"

Ron winced "that's not the worst of it, Harry. Transfiguration and DADA are with the Slytherins".

"What!?" Harry said. Four hours of jabs and taunts and mockery. It was going to be hell.

"Well," Ron said, trying to sound encouraging "look at it this way; maybe you'll get to duel Malfoy. We could all use a little entertainment".

"Ron!" Hermione admonished, looking up from her newspaper disapprovingly. "You're better than that".

Ron's ears turned red. Seamus sniggered, than yelped in pain as both Ron and Dean kicked him, one from each side.

"Ow!" he complained. Hermione, oblivious, was back to her newspaper.

---------

They finished with a few minutes to spare, after Ron and Dean supervised Harry's plate and made sure he ate. He, Ron and Hermione hurried forward, as the others were delayed for a little.

Harry was walking a little behind them, lost in thought, as they argued. _Hmm_, he thought, as he looked out of a window they passed, _I never noticed how nice the lake looks from here. And that tree; was it always there? It gives a lot of shade; probably a nice place to sit, when it's warmer._

"I wonder if we can get Kingsley to show us special Auror tricks," Ron wondered as they entered the classroom.

"Merlin, Ron, don't be an idiot!" Hermione said, claiming a seat near the front. Ron bristled as she continued "that's classified stuff, of course he wouldn't show us anything of the sort".

Ron's face darkened, and Harry sighed, feeling exhausted and dizzy all of the sudden. He sat down on a table near them.

"Don't call me an idiot!" Ron said angrily.

A small headache was appearing. And a slight twinge of his scar, just barely. Harry frowned, raising his hand to his forehead. It wasn't Voldemort, he was sure of that; it was something else, not so much a feeling as a sense, an idea. And it was coming from the back of the classroom…

Harry raised his head and found Draco Malfoy looking at him. The blonde was sitting at the back of the classroom, his legs crossed on the table, staring at Harry over the cover of a book with an irritated expression on his sharp face.

Harry narrowed his eyes; when did **he** get here? He touched Hermione's arm, breaking the argument, as she and Ron both turned to glare at Malfoy. The Slytherin smirked at them and resumed reading.

Harry frowned at the book. It made his headache grow stronger, a faint buzz appearing as he concentrated on the book. But that was ridicules, wasn't it? It was just a book, and a boring one at that, judging from the title.

The words blurred as he read them, briefly; he shook his head to clear it and looked away. He must be more tired than he thought, if the book smudged around the edges like that when he looked at it. He was imagining things.

----------

Draco fought the urge to frown as Potter stared at his book. It almost made him think the glamours weren't working, but no; both Weasley and Granger seemed uninterested, so the charms must've been successful.

Potter was probably just wondering why Draco would bother to read such a boring book.

The rest of the class started filing in then; loud voices and the sound of chairs being dragged across the floor filled the room, and Draco, realizing he wouldn't be able to concentrate anymore, marked the page and put the book away.

Kingsley came in then, and the chatter died immediately; he was an intimidating man, and no student wanted to get on his bad side on the first day.

Draco was unimpressed. He knew Kingsley was there, in the department of mysteries, the night his father was exposed. He knew Kingsley was in one league with Dumbledore. Now that he thought about it, that was probably how Potter knew him; Dumbledore must've called for a favor, for Kingsley to take a break of his Auror job in a time like this, and come teach at Hogwarts.

Kingsley was reading names, pausing after every name to glance at the student mentioned.

"Malfoy, Draco," he said, and raised his head, looking directly at Draco. Draco held his gaze without flinching, keeping his face cold and detached. He expected a sneer, a flare of the nostrils, a smart remark, even, but the Auror just looked at him, expressionless, before marking him down and moving on.

When he called Potter's name, though, he looked at him for an instant longer than everyone else, and although his face hasn't changed, Draco, who was watching him intently, saw worry flaring in his eyes before he turned away.

_Well_, he thought to himself, _Potter's got himself a bodyguard, or so it would seem_.

Kingsley then put the parchment away and introduced himself. When he was sure they all got his name, he continued.

"This year, Defense Against the Dark Arts is a N.E.W.T. class- that is to say, the spells and curses you will learn will be far harder and far more dangerous then what you have encountered so far. This is no children play. Those of you who feel they will not be able to handle some of what we will learn- and I promise you, it isn't going to be easy- are free to leave now, and ask for an exchange in their classes".

He passed his dark gaze over them, seeming satisfied when no one moved a muscle.

"Now, will someone please tell me what you have learnt the previous year? Yes, Miss MacDougal"…

----------

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur of information and the scratching of parchments; despite his intense dislike for the man, as he was part of the force that captured his father, Draco knew he was going to be a good teacher. There was no point in sulking- he needed every hex and curse he could learn.

Know your enemies, Draco, his father once told him, and Draco planned to do just that. He already noticed two very important things about Shacklebolt; he seemed a very detached person, very professional- angering him to make him careless wouldn't work.

But more important was the fact that he didn't seem wary of his students, not even Draco, whose father was a known Death Eater. Confidence can be the death of you, Lucius taught Draco once, although he hadn't listened to his own advice. If you were too confident, you could be surprised when you least expected it.

_Watch out, Shacklebolt_, Draco thought as he left the classroom, fuming silently. _I'll get you, in the end. All of you._

_----------_

Seven pages. Woot.


	5. Brewing a plan

Desclaimer: This is the last time I'm going to say this, since I think all of you had already got the point; only the plot is mine. The rest belongs to JKR.

**Author's Rambling**: As you see, I am very much alive, meaning I have passed my math finals. Hooray for me!

This chapter is dedicated to my cat, which I have tripped over a score-breaking number of five times today, two of which were at the staircase. I take this as a hint, and humbly dedicate this to her before she'll cause me to break my neck, or something.

Third Chapter, in which Draco is evil and scheming, Kingsley is all drill-sargent-y (maybe too much. Army, anyone?), and Harry is mostly out of breath. Some angst, too.

-----------

Draco fell into routine faster than he had expected; a whole week had passed by already, and now, Saturday morning, Draco felt as though he had been a sixth year forever.

Wake up, half an hour before anyone else, run, shower, go to breakfast, glare at Potter over toast and tea. Then go to class, write down notes (if Potter's in the class as well, glare at him a little more for good measure), go to the next class, go to lunch. Eat, talk to Blaise and Pansy, throw dark looks at Potter in between sentences (if they had Potions that day, be glared at by Potter, since Snape turned a blind eye to whatever antics Draco was up to). More classes, do homework at the library, think of elaborated, painful ways to kill Potter, eat dinner, go to sleep.

It was quite boring, actually.

Now, it was Saturday, so early (by free days' terms) that only Draco was awake, and he just couldn't manage to go back to sleep.

He switched to his back, but after staring at the ceiling of the four-poster for a few minutes, he decided it was futile. He wasn't going to fall asleep again.

He got out of bed, pulling his robes over his nightclothes. He slipped his feet into a pair of shoes, grabbed a book and headed out, deciding a little fresh air would be just the ticket right now.

The corridors were empty, and his footsteps sounded too loud, echoing from the stone floor and the walls. Draco, feeling exposed (although who he had to hide from here, Salazar knew), muttered a quick silencing charm and allowed himself a little smile when the sound was gone.

He pushed open the front doors, intending to find a dry spot somewhere near the lake and read for a while, until everyone woke up.

But as he approached the lake, he saw someone had beaten him to that thought.

The black mop of hair was unmistakable, even from this distance, and Draco stopped, scowling. Just when he wanted some peace and quiet, the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-nuisance had to happen along and ruin it for him.

The Gryffindor was sitting with his back to Draco, hugging his knees. He was wearing a faded red jumper over his trousers, a few sizes too large. He was completely unaware of Draco, staring forlornly at the lake.

_Oh, bad move, Potter_, Draco thought. _Didn't your overgrown Auror bodyguard teach you anything? Like not to sit with your back to the castle, where anyone could walk up to you unheeded and hex you?_

He fingered his wand. In fact, why not hex him now? No one was around to interfere, to point out to Potter that Draco was right behind him, aiming a wand at his head. No one would know. After he was done, Draco could just sneak up to the castle, slip back into his bed, and pretend he was asleep all morning.

His hand shook, his fingers curled so tight around his wand that his knuckles turned white. What should he use? Something slow, painful, something that wouldn't appear straight away; days, weeks would pass before Potter would start feeling something was wrong.

Draco has read about those kind of curses, in one of the ancient tombs he had extracted from his father's library; curses that would slowly eat the victim from inside, curses that would poison him slowly, so sweetly. All time triggered, all promising an excruciating, unhurried death, after a long, long time of torture.

Should he choose something that would burn him alive, turn his blood to fire in his veins? Or maybe something that would make his lungs constrict a little more with each passing day, like a belt tightening one hole at a time, until his lungs would fail and he would choke to death?

His hands were shaking so badly now. _It's the taste of victory, Draco_, he told himself. _It's satisfaction that makes you tremble like this._

_Not fear, of course not. What do you have to fear?_

All untraceable, all forgotten and incurable, unless you knew the specific curse. The voice in his thoughts was starting to sound more and more like his father.

_Hex him, Draco. Avenge me. Avenge our humiliation. Your humiliation._

_Don't be a fool_, another voice spoke up suddenly. _You don't know what protection charms Dumbledore's put on him. You don't even know if you can cast those curses. _

He almost dropped his wand along with his hand. It wasn't relief he felt, naturally. He wanted revenge, he wanted to hurt Potter. Just, now wasn't a good time.

Yes, he should've seen it before. He'll need to research first, to practice, to find out what spells Dumbledore had placed on Potter. As far as he knew, his curse could've bounced right back at him.

Mind busy, Draco turned around and walked quickly back to the castle. He had plenty to do before the other students would wake up. He needed to read about protection charms.

He put his wand back in a pocket. Not that he was afraid to drop it or anything. It was just much more comfortable.

-------------

Noon found him in the library, browsing the shelves for helpful information. An impressive stack of books was already discarded on a table, along with a few parchments covered in Draco's small and neat handwriting. When Pansy came in, looking for him ("really, Draco, homework on Saturday?" she said, wrinkling her nose, after telling him she'd already been to the grounds and the Quidditch Pitch), he had pretty much everything he needed, at least for now.

As he sat down for lunch, he caught sight of Potter, who had just entered. Delighted with himself and unable to control it, he smirked at him. Potter looked up, meeting his eyes, and blinked, looking startled. As his eyes narrowed in suspicious, Draco's smirk widened, and he looked away.

_Finally_, he thought. _At last, I'm starting to act_.

------------

The next day, he bumped into Potter in the corridors. In that split second when he pretended to tumble, he slipped his wand into his hand from where he was hiding it inside his sleeve, and whispered an incantation he had found the day before.

Then he straightened, assuming an angry face "watch were you're going, you idiot! Are you that near-sighted that you can't even see the people walking in front of you?"

As Potter scowled, rubbing his side, where Draco's wand had been pressed into him, Draco walked away. He turned to look after Potter a few steps after.

The spell was harmless, in its self. It merely showed what protection charms a specific person was under. Draco had the spell write the names of the different charms on a piece of parchment that was currently tucked safely inside his bag. As he looked, Potter began to glow, soft at first, but increasing rapidly.

No one else would see the glow, of course, only the castor. The Gryffindor began to sparkle, red turning to yellow turning to blue turning to purple, and Draco felt disheartened.

_So many charms_, he thought. _So many spells. It would take me ages to remove all of them. _

Then Granger turned and caught him looking, and he quickly turned away and hurried down the corridor.

--------------

_Figures Dumbledore would do something like this._

Draco was sitting on his bed in the dormitory, a few books he had checked out from the library earlier spread out before him.

_After the fiasco of last year, he would want to make sure Potter was as protected as he could be. _

He studied the parchment the spells were written on. He hadn't even heard about half of those, and the ones he had recognized, well, Dumbledore must've been the one to cast them. It was hopeless.

In an act of anger, he pushed all the books of the bed. They tumbled to the floor in a mess of open pages and crumpled paper.

"Damn," Draco muttered, "Madam Pince will kill me".

He bent to pick up the books when something caught his eye. The cover of one book, already old, was torn a little when he flung it to the ground. And underneath the leather cover, a piece of parchment peeked.

Draco raised his eyebrows "well, what do we have here?"

Carefully, he freed a little more of the cover and pulled the paper out. It was yellowed and ancient looking, with spidery writing sprawled all over it in faded ink.

He frowned and bent closer, squinting at the words. After reading a few sentences, his mouth dropped open.

This was exactly what he needed. A spell that will slowly dissolve any protection spells on a person, eating away at them until the victim is left bare and ready for the kill.

It couldn't be a coincidence. It was too strange to be a coincidence.

_Too wonderful_, Draco corrected himself.

No matter what it was, it was just in time. It would take a long time, months even, but Draco had time. He had plenty of time.

_It seems the gods of fate had enough of you, Potter_. Draco smiled to himself as he mended the book and started studying the incantation.

_They're with me now._

------------------

The first week couldn't have gone any slower for Harry.

First of all, Dumbledore called him up to his office during lunch on Monday, and told him Kingsley would be giving him special lessons, starting this evening. Harry, apparently, would also have to resume his Occlumency lessons.

"I won't," he said flatly, his hands clenching into fists "not with Snape".

"Professor Snape, Harry. And yes, I assumed as much. I would be the one to teach you".

"I don't trust you either".

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and then he sighed, looking very old and tired. Harry never noticed how wrinkled his face was before, how fragile the bones in his hands. He almost regretted his words, but not enough to take them back.

"Harry-I… I realize you're angry with me. You have every right to be. But we all make mistakes, even me".

Harry folded his arms across his chest "Sirius' death was my fault, but it wouldn't have happened if you had told me the truth".

The Headmaster closed his eyes "I understand you think you can't trust me now, but-"

"I can learn to trust you again, if I'll know I can. No more secrets, Professor. If I'm the one supposed to end all of this, if I'm the only one who can, it's my right".

Dumbledore looked as though he might cry.

"Alright, Harry," he bowed his head. "No more secrets".

-----------

His first lesson with Kingsley was tiring, but satisfying. It seemed Dumbledore had gained permission from Fudge to give Harry Auror training. Kingsley didn't waste time on talking, but started working and testing Harry right away.

"You have good reflexes," the Auror said approvingly, when he told Harry he could stop at last. Harry nearly collapsed to the floor, panting.

"Very good, even," he continued, "but you're terribly out of shape. You shouldn't even be breathing heavily after this, but you're all over the floor".

"Am not" Harry protested weakly, but was ignored by Kingsley.

"You have a natural ability for anything DADA related. The fact that you managed to master the Patronus charm in your third year proves it beyond doubt. But," Harry cringed, "you know only the basics. None of what you've learned so far will help you against Death Eaters. And that," he smiled "is where I come in".

Harry didn't like the evil gleam in his eye.

"From now on, starting today, you will do fifty push-ups every morning. You will do a hundred sit-ups. You will join me for my morning jog. This is not a recommendation; I am not giving you any choice in the matter. When I feel you are ready, I will start teaching you martial arts".

Harry groaned.

Kingsley continued, without any mercy "you will meet me by the front doors tomorrow at five A.M. sharp". At Harry's disbelieving look, he added, "tardiness will not be accepted. This is not a game, Harry. Your life may depend on it".

"Now, start doing the exercises I gave you. After you have finished- and if they are satisfactory- we will start learning shielding charms".

He was right. This wasn't a game. Harry nodded at him and dropped to his stomach.

"One," Kingsley started counting, and Harry pushed himself up, "good. Two…"

------------

He dragged himself out of bed at twenty minutes to five Tuesday Morning, brushed his teeth and put on his clothes. He met the Auror next to the front doors at two minutes to five. After a set of warming exercises, Kingsley straightened.

"Right. Now, lets run to Hogsmead".

"You've got to be joking," Harry boggled at him. Kingsley looked as though he wouldn't recognize a joke if it had run past them now, wearing Tonks' bright orange T-shirt.

"Bugger," Harry said, and started running after Kingsley.

------------

The rest of the week was more or less like that, with Harry receiving Auror lessons from Kingsley every evening and Occlumency lessons from Dumbledore twice a week. He staggered after Kingsley every morning, while the Auror literally ran laps around him. He almost fell asleep in his breakfast in the first three days. His waking hours were crowded, one thing following another, and not leaving him almost any time to himself.

Saturday couldn't have come sooner.

He had to wake up early today, too, but Kingsley had given him an entire hour more to sleep. Harry could've kissed him, and then found himself thinking he was pathetic, if he felt that ecstatic about having to get up at six rather than five.

After the run, though, he decided to stay outside. The weather was nice, and the lake peaceful and beautiful to look at. The grass looked inviting.

"Go inside," he told Kingsley, who was hovering impatiently beside him. "Really. I'll be fine. What could happen?"

After the Auror left reluctantly, muttering about coming to check on Harry in an hour, Harry walked over to sit beside the water. He hugged his knees, resting his head on them.

_I have so much homework to do_, he thought. He didn't have time to finish them all during the week. But for now it was nice to have a little time to himself, to pretend he was just a regular boy.

He sat there for a long time, lost in thoughts. When he stood up and turned to go, he noticed the grass was trampled a little way from where he sat, like someone had stood there a while.

_Kingsley must've been to check on me_, he thought, and didn't wonder about it anymore.

-------------

At lunch, he was picking at his food when he felt eyes on him. He raised his head, meeting Draco Malfoy's eyes, staring right into his. The Slytherin was looking terribly smug, he thought, but after Malfoy turned away, Ron said something to him, and he forgot about it.

-------------

The next day, he, Ron and Hermione were hurrying to the Library between classes. "I can't believe you, Harry" Ron was ranting. "Since when do you care about essays? Since when do you go to the library!? Don't go all Hermione on me, mate, one is enou- Ow, Hermione, that hurt!"

"Well I, for one, unlike **some** unsophisticated people in this corridor," Hermione said coolly, throwing a nasty look at Ron, "think this is great. You've finally seen the importance of studying, Harry. Good for you".

Harry rolled his eyes "I've already explained this to you, Ron. I have no other time to do this".

"Ah, yeah. I forgot" Ron said, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm glad you can" Harry muttered, somewhat bitterly, and Hermione patted him sympathetically on the arm while glaring at the redhead again.

Just then, someone walked into him. He raised his head, about to apologize, and met Malfoy's sneering face.

"Watch were you're going, you idiot! Are you that near-sighted that you can't even see the people walking in front of you?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, rubbing his side, where Malfoy had hit him with his elbow, as the blonde stalked off.

"He has very sharp elbows," he commented, wincing.

Hermione, though, was looking past him, a suspicious expression on her face.

"He's staring at you," she said, frowning. "And he's looking expectant- now he's looking annoyed".

Harry looked behind him, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on," he said, "forget it. We won't be able to stop at library if we don't hurry".

After all, it wasn't like Malfoy had actually done anything. He probably just waited to see if Harry would start a fight, or something.

--------

Err, was Kingsley over-doing it? I wasn't really sure about it. But look, Plot device! Plus, it gets Harry all muscle-y and hot, so why not, right?


	6. The start of a new time

**Author's rambling**: Sorry for the delay, everyone, busy week for me, plus my computer decided to take a vacation from the realm of the living. I am suffering from something in my left wrist, which prevents me from moving it- that is, I **can **move it, it just hurt very, **very** much. I was minding my own, making stir fry, when suddenly, bam- IT HURT. So now I am bandaged and can't use it at all.: cue sniffle: hope you all had a good week.

Six chapter (this is the longest thing I have ever wrote, it's official now), in which there is a brilliant plan, a somewhat less brilliant execution of that plan, and smut (sort of, I think. Maybe?). Angst, too. And Draco turns out to be an easily panicked kid.

Have fun!

This chpater is dedicated to all my reviewers, you have no idea how wonderful it is, to open the internet and see your reviews. Luff and hugs to all!

-

The spell Draco found turned out to be quite easy, but complicated, as it consisted of three different stages;

First, the victim had to consume a few drops of the essence of an Anemone flower. That part had been easy. Essence of Anemone was a common enough potions ingredient, and Snape let him take some from his private storage without any questions.

Being a teacher's pet had its perks.

Draco visited the kitchens about an hour before breakfast, and, ignoring the House Elves that were watching him with huge, terrified eyes, he let a little of the liquid in the bottle trickle to each jug of drink that was intended for the Gryffindor table; he wanted to make sure Potter would actually drink it.

"It's completely harmless," Draco promised the House Elves that gathered around him, protesting his actions, and let a drop land on his tongue. "See?"

At breakfast, he sat and watched greedily as Potter drank a full goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Perfect," he smirked to himself, and poured himself a mug of coffee.

-

The essence needed three days to work, so in the meantime, Draco held try outs for the Quidditch team. They were a few positions short, and as the new Slytherin captain, it was his duty to take care of that.

"Professor McGonagel is going to offer the position to Potter, no doubt," Professor Snape muttered sourly as he gave Draco the spot. "Well, never mind. He may be an adequate Seeker, but no one ever said he was intelligent, and being Captain is all about strategies. I trust you will make me proud, Malfoy".

-

The next stage required an incantation. Draco, who sat behind Potter in Transfiguration, took advantage of a moment when McGonagel's back was turned, and cast the spell, satisfied when Potter's back glowed softly for an instant.

_Now, to the final step_, he thought.

-

In order to complete the spell, he had to find out where the Gryffindor sixth year's dormitory was. He got up early the day before the final stage was to be performed, grabbed his broomstick, and walked quietly out of the dungeons.

Once outside, he mounted his broom and flew in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

It was cold, up in the air, and Draco shivered, regretting not wearing anything warmer. He circled the tower, peeking into windows and hoping no one was awake.

It would be so humiliating to be found like this.

At last, something caught his eye. He drifted closer, clutching the window frame with one hand to steady himself.

It was a red, worn out sweater. The one Potter wore that Saturday, when Draco found him by the lake.

_Bingo._

He traced the window frame with his wand, whispering a nifty little charm he learned years ago. It was a spell his mother taught him during his Christmas in first year, when he lost a book he'd received as a present and threw a tantrum loud enough for the entire manor to hear.

Draco was a spoiled little brat when he was younger.

It was a spell that helped you keep track of things- you concentrated on the object you had cast it on, and your wand tugged you towards it.

He flew back in the direction of the entrance, wanting nothing more than to take a scorching shower and get something hot to drink.

He halted, though, when he noticed something moving on the way to Hogsmead. He flew closer, narrowing his eyes in order to see better.

Two people. One was Kinglsey, the DADA teacher, and the other… Potter?

They were running. Or at least, Kingsley was running. Potter was keeping up quite well, but his face was so red Draco could see the colour from this distance, and sweat was gleaming on his face despite the cold weather.

Some light-side-bonding, perhaps? Dumbledore was too old so the Auror took Potter out?

Draco could picture it already. _This is a squirrel, Harry_, Kingsley would say. _Repeat after me: Animals are our friends. Except when they are on our plate, or the pets of evil people, and then, of course, feel free to blast them away. Ho ho!_

For some reason, Draco didn't find this amusing.

Or maybe… yes, this sounded far more logical: Kingsley was giving Potter special lessons. Trust Dumbledore to bend the rules like that, just because Potter was "the boy who lived".

Apparently, the training consisted of making Potter run until he dropped dead. Draco could live with that, although it **would** spoil his brilliant plan for revenge.

Sending a last glance in the direction of the retreating figures, he returned inside.

-

It was around two A.M. when Draco got out of bed, pulled his robes quickly over his head, placed a silencing spell on his shoes, grabbed his broomstick and the vial waiting on his bed, and padded silently out.

He tiptoed along the corridors, keeping to the shadows, ears straining to hear every noise that could indicate Filch, his damned cat, or one of the Professors out on a round. Now that it was widely acknowledged that the Dark Lord was back, the safety measures Dumbledore took increased dramatically.

He closed the front doors behind him, sighing in relief at the fact that he managed to get this far, and started flying towards his destination.

The tracking charm proved helpful indeed, and soon Draco found himself hovering by the sixth year boys dorm's window.

"Alohamora" he whispered, and the window clicked opened.

Draco climbed inside, leaning the broom on the wall. He peeked at the nearest four-poster.

_Ugh_, he shuddered_. Longbottom_.

The next one contained Finnigan, but after that, Draco found what he was looking for.

Draco stopped, one hand on the curtains, staring into the sleeping face of his most hated enemy.

-

Potter was laying half on his back, half on his side, his head turned towards Draco. His black hair was all over the pillow, framing his pale face like a dark halo.

After looking around one last time, he knelt next to the bed. The Gryffindor's face was slightly troubled, a light frown on his face, as though he was having bad dreams.

Unable to control himself, Draco reached out a trembling hand and pushed away the messy locks of hair, surprisingly soft, revealing the famous scar.

He had never seen it from this close up; at least, not like this. He and Potter only got this close in order to punch each other in the nose.

He leaned closer, feeling the boy's steady breath on his face, which smelled of mint toothpaste and salt. The scar stood out vividly against the white forehead, needle-thin, red and ugly. It was indeed lightning shaped, a cruel slash in the skin. It looked fresh.

Without thinking, he pressed a finger against it.

Potter jerked under the touch, his mouth opening in a silent scream, and Draco scrambled back on his elbows hurriedly, heart pounding like mad. But after a moment Potter stilled, returning to normal slumber.

_Right_, Draco thought, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, _that was the scariest thing ever_.

He had knocked the vial over in his haste, and now inspected it worriedly for cracks, but it was still in one piece, the almost-transparent liquid shimmering through the glass.

Gold dust and Moonstone dust, sprinkled in lake water. Those ingredients were a bit less common, but Draco had ordered them by owl from two different shops in Diaggon Alley, one store for each ingredient. Money wasn't a problem, after all.

He rose back to his knees, leaning in again. He uncorked the vial, dipping two fingers inside the water.

With his wet fingers, he started tracing runes across the Gryffindor's forehead, nose, cheekbones.

_He has freckles on his nose_, Draco found himself thinking distractedly. _I never noticed that before._

He wetted his fingers again and dragged them over Potter's lips and chin.

Potter opened his mouth suddenly, his breath terribly hot on Draco's hand, and to his horror, Draco felt himself flush.

_What's wrong with you?_ He berated himself. _It's nerves, that's all. Concentrate._

He ignored the way his hands were trembling when he unbuttoned Potter's shirt.

Wet fingers again, smooth, steady strokes against his throat, his shoulders, the dip under his collarbone.

_Don't think, you fool. Concentrate._

Wet fingers, trace the runes_, don't count his ribs, concentrate!_

When he was finished, he was sweating despite the chill air, his breathing uneven. _Finally_, he thought, refusing to think of it, _it seemed like forever_.

_Now to wait_, he told himself, corking the vial and slipping it back into his robes. The spell was supposed to take effect after the liquid was exposed to moonlight, but Draco wasn't sure how long it was supposed to take.

After a few minutes of waiting, growing more nervous as each moment ticked by, he reached for his broom, deciding that since the instructions didn't say he had to wait, he might as well leave.

He looked at Potter one last time, his gaze lingering on his face, and the closed eyelids opened, revealing eyes of burning green that looked straight at Draco.

-

The week didn't start all that well for Harry.

Professor McGonagel called him to her office at the beginning of the week, saying she had something very important to discuss with him.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said worriedly, looking at him from above her Arithmency homework "you didn't do anything, did you? The year's barely started, and you can't afford to get detention, now. You don't have enough time as it is".

Harry assured her he didn't do anything wrong, but couldn't help feeling a little anxious himself as he knocked on the door to his Head of House's office.

"Come in!" a stern voice called, and he opened the door quietly. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Oh, Mr. Potter, yes," she said, raising her head from the papers she was bent over. "Have a seat, please. Tea?"

As Harry sat before her, apprehensive, she poured him a cup of tea and smiled at him. He nearly had a heart attack, right there on the spot.

"Now, you're probably wondering why I called you," at his nod she continued. "As you know, the Gryffindor Quidditch team is a Captain short. As your Quidditch ban has been canceled by the Headmaster, and taking to considerations your impressive talent and experience at the sport, I am delighted to offer you the position".

For a second, Harry was overwhelmingly happy. Giddy, even. He could already see himself, wearing the Quidditch Captain's uniform, leading his team to one victory after another. But as soon as the feeling appeared, it vanished, reality settling in, cold and harsh.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, and McGonagel blinked at him from behind her severe glasses "but I must refuse the offer. I feel that, concerning recent events, I will not be able to fulfill the job satisfyingly".

"Mr. Potter," McGonagel stuttered, looking as flustered as he had ever seen her "I assure you, I have taken recent events into consideration- I'm sure you'll be perfectly able-"

"Professor," Harry interrupted her "I'm sorry. I simply don't have any time. I've got my hands full as it is".

"Well," she tried, obviously not ready to take no for an answer, "what about the evenings? Surely you can do your homework before that?"

Harry sighed, growing annoyed. Couldn't she see how hard this was for him? Why did she have to continue pressuring him?

"I don't have free evenings, Professor," he said tightly. "I have training with Professor Kingsley every night, and lessons with the Headmaster on my two free afternoons".

"Oh, oh, of course…" the old teacher said, comprehension dawning on her face at last. "I wasn't aware…" she fixed him with a kind smile, one that looked completely foreign on her usually stern face.

"Well, in that case, I'll have to find another Captain," she said, and Harry tried to feel relieved, not disappointed.

"Good luck, then, with your training," she told him, as he got up, "I hope you'll be able to stay on the team, at least?"

When he nodded, she smiled again and he left and closed the door behind him.

-

Half an hour later, he was sitting in the Quidditch stands, gazing at the distant golden loops, when he heard light footsteps coming his way.

He didn't turn around, and Hermione, after hesitating, sat beside him.

"You didn't come back," she said quietly. "What did Professor McGonagel want?"

Harry didn't turn his head to look at her, staring fixatedly at the pitch. "She offered me the position of Quidditch Captain."

"Well, that's wonderful-"

"I told her no".

"What?" Hermione sounded shocked, "why?"

"I don't have time. Someone else would be able to do it far better than me". His voice sounded bitter, even to his own ears.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, and a minute later her arms were around him, her body a warm comfort against his back. "You did the right thing. Of course you did. I'm sorry you had to give it up, but… I'm very proud of you, for being able to put everyone else before you. That's a very noble thing".

He felt a stinging in his eyes, but refused to let it progress beyond that. "I won't ever be normal, will I?" he asked, not actually expecting an answer.

When he indeed received none, he stood up. "Let's go back. We have homework to do, and I have to meet Kingsley in twenty minutes".

He felt Hermione's pitying eyes on him as they walked back, and almost hated her, for a minute.

-

Draco jumped back in alarm as Potter's eyes opened, then closed again, knocking over a few things with the handle of his broom. They fell, the noise deafening in the silent room.

_Shit!_ Draco thought, panicking. He could hear sounds of waking from the other beds, heavy breathing from Potter, and a mumbling voice asking "whass wass thass…" sleepily, which sounded like Weasley.

Realizing he won't have time to get out the window, he dived under Potter's bed.

_Ugh, dust_, he scowled, disgusted, before panic flared again.

Above him, Potter started coughing violently. Weasley's voice surfaced again, sounding alert, now. "Harry?"

There was the sound of footsteps, and two huge, freckled feet appeared a few inches from Draco's nose.

_Ugh_, he thought again, more urgently this time. _Weasley toe-lint_.

"Harry? Harry!"

Potter now sounded as though he was choking.

_Interesting_, Draco mused, dazedly.

Then two sets of feet disappeared in the direction of what, Draco presumed, was the loo. Then there was the distant sound of retching, and a soothing murmur.

_I'm never going to get out of here. I might as well get used to eating dust-bunnies as means to survival._ He poked one with his finger. _They don't look very appetizing._

Potter and Weasley returned, and there was the rustle of blankets, and a few soft words Draco didn't catch. Then the freckled feet left, and silence settled over the dormitory again.

Draco waited for what seemed like eternity, until he was convinced he was the only one awake. He crawled from under the bed, making a face at his dust covered robes.

_I'm not even going to check how my hair looks, because I'm sure I'll scream right here in the Gryffindor dormitory and wake up the whole bloody tower._

He picked up his broom, and walked briskly over to the window, which bloody Weasley had closed. Before he climbed out, he cast a last look at Potter.

The boy was asleep, tossing and turning fitfully, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and his face shining with perspiration.

Draco left, closing the window securely after him.

It was only when he got back to his own dorm and changed clothes, that he found out he had lost the vial.

-

Ooh, action at last. Isn't Draco cute when he panics? Also, I was wondering- there's going to be more action later on, in the coming chapters, though nothing really graphic, so I wondered- should I change the rating from PG 13 to R, just in case?


	7. I really have no title for this one, so ...

**Author's Rambling**: Bah! I'm so sorry! I'm so late with this chapter! I've had a bit of a writers' block, and was busy, and my computer insisted on getting stuck all the time, which kind of ruins the mood for writing. Nevertheless, I have already started the next chapter, and hopefully, it'll be up soon.

The next chapter, in which Draco fights with guilt and a more painfull realization, and acts like a total prat, and Harrymakes a Discovery (yes, with capitals) about certain powersin his posession. Have fun!

This chapter is dedicated to all those who had stayed with me during this long break of mine. I love you all!

Again, sorry for theshortness of the chapter- blame the writers' block.'Sides, it seemedright to stop it there.

-

Draco's sleep that night was the worse he could remember for a very long time. He should've been ecstatic, should've been smug as the cat who had just eaten both the cream and the canary, and was offered a third helping; after all, he had set his plan in motion, he had rolled the dice, and the numbers looked to be in his favour.

But instead of gloating and congratulating himself, he felt worry and anxiousness gnaw at him; what if he had forgotten something, some part that was crucial for the success of the spell?

But no, he had gone over it time and time again, and it was perfect.

What if the spell would be traced back to him?

But no, that was impossible; no one would suspect something was wrong until the very last minutes, and by then, the echoes of his magic fingerprints would have faded completely.

What if he had hurt Potter?

Draco sat up straight in his bed, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. His heart was beating furiously against his ribcage, his head spinning wildly.

Where did that come from? He wondered, a little shaken. Of course he wanted to hurt Potter; that was the whole point of this spell. He had gone to great lengths **just** to hurt the Gryffindor. He wanted to have Potter at the mercy of his wand, to kill him, and he wanted Potter to know it was Draco who did him in.

He eased back into the mattress, trying to envision it. He used to do it a lot when he was younger, especially after the Gryffindor-Slytherin matches, when Potter had beaten him yet again. It was always the same scenario, and now it unfolded easily in his mind, familiar and almost comforting.

Rain; for some reason, there was always rain. Potter sprawled by his feet, covered in mud and sweat, wandless. Draco himself standing above him, wand trained on him, his mouth curling in a faint smirk.

"Well, Potter," he would drawl, "it seems you chose the wrong side after all".

Potter would glare at him through his wet hair, his eyes full of intense loathing, and spit at Draco's feet. It was always like that; even when he was twelve, Draco knew Potter would not beg, would not grovel, not even for his life. He would glare and curse and spit, but even when things were hopeless, he would refuse to surrender.

Draco was all right with that, surprisingly. That was simply the way Potter was, and Draco felt his victory wouldn't have been as complete if Potter would have pleaded with him.

He closed his eyes, concentrating, losing himself in the scene playing out before him.

He would raise his wand, noticing the tiny, brief spark of fear in Potter's eyes- for anyone would be afraid, faced with the absolute, final proof that he was really going to die, even Potter- and then he would utter the killing curse, those beautiful poisonous, deadly words, and it would be over.

He imagined himself looking into Potter's eyes- his eyes were the greenest Draco ever saw, as green as the Avada Kadavra itself, and it was only fitting he would die that way, really- opening his mouth, the trickle of water slowly making it's way down Potter's face as he raised his head, and-

Draco blinked.

_Again_, he thought. Raising his wand, opening his mouth, and-

He couldn't.

He couldn't. He, Draco Malfoy, couldn't bring himself to imagine killing Harry Potter. He took a deep, calming breath, feeling angrier with himself as the seconds ticked by.

What was wrong with him? Was he getting cold feet? Was he getting **nervous**?

_Coward_, he hissed at himself, _coward, bloody coward, bloody failure_. _Get a grip on yourself, you're ready to do this, you have to be able to do this_…

_Family above everything else_, his father echoed in his head, only adding to Draco's furious confusion. Destroy those who offend the Malfoy name.

_Destroy Potter. For me._

_I want to be able to, father_, Draco answered, almost desperate. _I want to see him dead, I really do_.

A face swam before him, replacing the already wavering vision; of a pale face, dark hair, and green eyes, looking at him steadily from behind wire-framed glasses.

Draco clenched his fists, screwing his eyes shut.

_Go away_, he shouted silently, _leave me alone._

_Kill him._

The face stayed, unmoved by Draco's attempts to wash it away. A soft smile curved the usually tense mouth.

Draco sucked in a breath, with a sudden, awful realization, so sudden it was like a hammer to the head;

_I don't. I don't want to kill him_. He tried fighting against this revelation, denying it to himself vehemently, but it badgered, demanding to be acknowledged.

_More than that. I don't want to see him die, either. It's not cowardness_.

He buried his face in his pillow, his shoulders shaking.

_I'm not afraid of the consequences- I actually- I actually care. About him. About Potter._

_I'm sorry, father, I'm so sorry. _

_I have failed you._

-

In the morning, though, things looked much better, as they often do. Draco was able to calm down, to channel his panic and desperation into pure, blazing anger.

_He must have put some sort of curse on me, _he seethed_. There's no other explanation. _

_He's probably having a laugh about it right now, with all his little friends._

He sat down at the Slytherin table for breakfast, tearing savagely two pieces of toast apart without actually eating them. Pansy and Blasie eyed him in worry, and edged away a little.

He glared in the direction of the Gryffindor table, looking automatically for a dark head. He saw Potter seating between his two devoted followers, face pale and almost ashen, eyes half closed. The miniscule pang of concern he didn't feel was immediately turned to glee.

_Ha,_ he thought. _Serves him right. Probably tired from casting this spell on me_, he added, conveniently forgetting Potter's reaction to Draco's spell the night before.

The mudblood was trying to force feed him, apparently having given up on the wretched boy actually eating by himself.

_Let him starve if he wants to_, Draco scowled at her. _That way he'll die now and spare us all the trouble_.

-

Harry didn't remember much of the night. Ron told him he had started coughing and choking so loudly he had woken Ron up, and when he hurried to his side, he found Harry covered in cold sweat, after having, apparently, torn his pajama part open in order to cool down.

Ron claimed he had thrown up after that (although in the bathroom, thank Merlin- he didn't throw up beside his bed again like he did in fifth year). He couldn't remember any of it.

The only thing he could recall, in fact, was a sliver of a dream he had; of an angle, standing over him, whitish gold hair framing it's face.

In the morning, though, that was not the first thing he had thought about, as the headache hit him as soon as he had opened his eyes.

"Ugh…" he groaned, and Ron rushed to his side immediately, tangling in his trousers (which he was in the middle of putting on) and almost falling flat on his face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked anxiously, and Harry dared to crack open one eye.

"I've had worse," he answered carefully.

Ron looked relieved.

Harry gingerly pushed himself up to a seating position, feeling nauseated.

Ron gave him the thumbs up.

Harry gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, and made a beeline to the bathroom, where he proceeded to throw up whatever managed to stay down after the night.

-

He insisted on coming to breakfast and class as usual, although Ron all but tied him to his bedpost to keep him in bed.

"You look sick, Harry," he had said doubtfully, above the sounds of Harry having a panic attack because he had missed his morning run and Kingsley would probably kill him; "I really don't think it'll be a good idea".

Dean and Neville nodded their agreement, while Seamus, who was not known for being tactful, of all things, said bluntly "You look like death warmed over, mate. If I was you, I'd stay in today and catch on to my beauty sleep, which frankly, you could use right now".

Dean kicked him for that, but Harry only laughed and wobbled down on his unsteady feet.

-

Breakfast was a sorry affair, to say the least; the smell of food in his nostrils made Harry nauseated all over again, although he doubted he had anything else left that could come up. Hermione gave him concerned looks once in a while, but other than that left him alone, after he managed to convince her eating was a good idea for him right now.

A little while before they left for Charms, he raised his head, and found himself looking straight into the furious eyes of Malfoy.

What did I do now? He wondered tiredly, while Malfoy was trying to kill him with the power of his gaze alone. Harry yawned and turned away, missing the pinkish flush of anger appearing on the Slytherin's face.

-

Potter was ignoring him again, the bastard. Pretending to be innocent, of course, but Draco wasn't going to be fooled. No, it was simply impossible, him caring about Potter out of his own accord. He hated him- every time he glanced at the Gryffindor, he could feel the heat rising in him, the way it always did- the quickened beating of his heart, the adrenaline flooding his veins- what could it be, if not the most intense loathing?

But he could feel the worry simmering gently behind the hate even now; the guilty flaring of concern whenever Potter closed his eyes in a tired gesture, or pressed a hand to his forehead.

For some reason, Draco couldn't help but feel that this was something very, very wrong, that will only lead to more trouble unless he got rid of it soon.

-

Over the next weeks, he redoubled his efforts to hurt Potter, to make fun of him and trip him in the corridors and throw nasty little comments, trying to convince himself of their old animosity. Potter, it seemed, was more then assured of it; he had taken to wearing a dark expression every time he crossed Draco's way, his eyes turning harsh and cold.

However, Draco was finding it harder and harder to convince himself.

-

Harry collapsed to the floor gratefully, aching all over. Kingsley announced the lesson before that he was ready to start learning martial arts, and was as strict a teacher at that as he was at any other subject.

He gave Harry a few minutes to rest, before signaling that the break was over. Harry reluctantly got up.

"Today," Kingsley boomed, "I will teach you a few basic spells for detecting objects of Dark Magic. Those are spells that every good Auror needs to know. If you will manage them, we'll move on to more advanced ones, but don't hold your breath just yet".

He left the room for a minute, returning with a large trunk trailing after him. Harry immediately straightened, alert. There was a dull headache making itself known, just behind his eyes, which grew when he focused on the trunk.

It was a headache he was experiencing more and more since he had returned to school.

Kingsley frowned at him. "Something wrong, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, his attention still on the box. There was something odd about it, though he couldn't quite say what. It was as though there were subtle shifts in the air around it, something unseen but felt, a low, grating off-key humming that vibrated through his bones rather than his ears.

"The trunk," he said instead. "What's in it?"

The Auror smiled proudly. "Ah. In here are the objects you're going to practice on".

He tapped the lid with his wand and flipped it open. The humming intensified, and Harry winced.

"What's that noise?" he asked.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "Noise? I don't hear anything. Or do you mean the rain? It started raining outside just now".

"Never mind, then" Harry said, approaching the box. Kingsley, after giving him a perplexed look, kneeled beside him and started rummaging inside, producing object after object.

The first thing was a hairpin, made of copper; the second a silver pendant on a leather cord. But the third…

Somehow, Harry knew what it was before he saw it; it made the same crude, soundless humming as the box.

"That," he said.

Kingsley looked at him in surprise. "Hmm?" he answered, putting the trinket next to the other two. It was a white pebble, large enough for Harry to hold in his fist had he actually wanted to touch it, round and flat.

"It's…" Harry wrinkled his forehead in thought "not right. There's something about it…."

He leaned back as the Auror's head snapped to look at him, his eyes suddenly narrowed. "What?"

"How did you… how did you know?" Kingsley asked, still staring at him.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Know what? It just makes this sort of noise- no, not noise, exactly. A feeling…"

Kingsley was studying him intently now. "I wonder…" he muttered to himself, and then looked back at Harry, "I'm going to take a few more items out now, and I want you to tell me, if any more of them make this… feeling appear, alright?"

He came up with a tiny dagger, with strange writing on the blade. Harry shook his head.

A small mirror followed, with a nondescript wooden frame. "That," Harry said, and Kingsley nodded.

A candle, a pair of old, blue shoes and a small jewelry box were declared innocent, but a fancy looking quill and a gem-inlaid ring were not.

"Interesting…" Kingsley mused to himself, scratching his chin thoughtfully "though not completely unexpected. Just surprising. Not a common talent, too…"

"What?" Harry demanded, feeling annoyed and left out. "What are those objects?"

Kingsley flashed him a wolfish smile, showing his white teeth "those, Harry," he said, pointing to the group of objects who were giving the strange vibes, "are all dark objects. And you've correctly identified every one of them, without using any detection spells or having any prior experience in the field".

-

Nifty little power Harry's got, isn't it?


	8. Of Potions And Conversations Betad

**Author's Rambling**: Hi everyone, I'm not dead! Really, I'm so sorry I didn't update in about a month, but I was just so busy- My art exhibit was due this weekend, so I've been working non-stop this month to finish everything in time. Now everything is up and ready, so I'll have time to write again. I promise I'll try not to be this late again- I've already started the next chapter. 

**P.S.** I have a Beta! She'll be going over my chapters from now on (including this one), so expect better chapters, but it may take a few more days for each chapter, since she has to go over them. I am also reposting previous chapters, just so you'd know.

So, this chapter is dedicated to **Fealyn Leaf**, who is my gorgeous new Beta. Applaudes, everyone!

Next chapter, in which Draco continues on the path of New Discoveries, and Harry just generaly feels rotten. Poor Harry. Also, people die. Enjoy!

888

It had been almost one month since that night Draco had cast the spell on Potter, and from the night he found out he cared about him. The feeling had not lessened or disappeared, on the contrary, it had grown in the time that passed. Draco was clueless about what could be done.

He had spent hours in the library, trying to find something, _anything_, that would explain why he felt those… feelings. But he found nothing. His strategy of bringing his and Potter's rivalry to new heights achieved absolutely zilch, except maybe making Potter hate him even more.

For a week, he had tried to ignore Potter; maybe if he pushed him out of his life, he'd forget about him. Draco had known that it was a moronic idea, but he had been desperate. He should have listened to himself. It was as if Potter had known about the plan, and had done whatever he could to sabotage it. The Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived was everywhere suddenly; in the corridors, in the classrooms, and at meals. Potter had even been paired with him in Potions and Transfiguration; his pale neck and his dark hair taunting Draco and demanding his attention.

Until he had tried removing Potter from his life, Draco had never known just how much a part of it the Gryffindor was. When he got up in the morning, he wasn't fully awake until he saw Potter and exchanged a few heated words with him, and in the corridors, he was unconsciously searching for a thin figure with green eyes. Even in Quidditch practices, when Potter wasn't around, he was still there. Draco had long ago stopped playing Quidditch to win, and started playing Quidditch for the sole purpose of beating Harry Potter.

The morning dawned grey and cold, and Draco was sitting at the great hall, eating his breakfast, and skimming over a newspaper while trying to spread apricot jam over his toast.

"Another sighting of the Dark Mark," he said, his face darkening, "and two people killed. One an Auror- does the name Lydia Cardinal ring a bell?" at Pansy's headshake, he nodded "I don't recognize the name, too. Must be Muggleborn. And-" he squinted at the paper "someone named Mundungus Fletcher. Fletcher, Fletcher… can't say I know that name either." There had already been five deaths that month, not counting the ones reported today: three of them Aurors, one an Unspeakable, and one a Muggle caught in the crossfire.

Draco raised his head automatically to look at the Gryffindor table, and frowned. "Potter's not here," he said.

"What?" Pansy lifted her head from the article, "Oh, he's never here on the mornings attacks are reported. If you ask me, someone informs him of them beforehand."

"Really?" Draco said thoughtfully. It made sense, though, since Dumbledore was bound to know immediately, and he would tell Potter.

"Why does it matter to you, anyway?" Pansy asked, fixing him with an unusually sharp look.

Draco blinked, and felt himself flush a little. "Nothing," he snapped "I just wondered why the Gryffindors weren't crowding around him for comfort."

"Aha," Pansy said, in a way that made him narrow his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean, Parkinson?" he demanded.

"What's what supposed to mean?" she answered, but didn't meet his eyes.

"You said it like you don't believe me. Like you meant something else. So spill."

"It's nothing, Draco, honestly-"

"Now!"

"Fine!" she hissed, glaring at him. "You wanted to know! Sometimes I wonder about you, Draco! You're obsessed with Potter, it's unhealthy! And frankly, it's a little disturbing, too!"

Draco stared at her, "What? That's the most- the stupidest thing- how dare you-"

"It's true! Whether you want to acknowledge it or no- leave me alone, you idiot! Let go of me!" Draco had grabbed her arm and dragged her outside the Great Hall after him, ignoring her shrieks and the stunned looks they received.

"Now," he said, through clenched teeth, as she yanked her arm from his grip and scowled at him, "explain what you meant, exactly."

"You don't need to be so violent, you bastard," Pansy said angrily, rubbing her arm. "Remember, you asked. You've built your life around him, since you met him, Draco. It's always 'Potter this' and 'Potter that', you measure yourself against him; you always compare everyone to him! Sometimes it's impossible to get your attention, because you're thinking about him or staring at him so hard that you're not even here!"

"Nonsense " Draco spluttered, but Pansy wasn't done.

"It's not! It's like you're not even fully conscious unless you're fighting him or plotting against him! Like everything else and everyone else bore you so much that you can't even be bothered to care. Have you ever passed a dayno, cross that, an hourwithout thinking about him?"

"Of course I have!" Draco answered heatedly, but even he could tell it was probably not true.

"He got my father thrown in Azkaban! He humiliated the Malfoy familyof course I'd want revenge"

"What hand does he use to push his glasses up, Draco?" Pansy interrupted him.

"His left hand, but what has…" he answered, before realising what he'd just done.

"You see?" Pansy said, in what almost seemed like despair. "I bet Weasley and Granger don't even know that! That's called obsession, Draco." When Draco opened his mouth to say something, she continued hurriedly, "And don't tell me you're doing it out of hate, because that's just a load of dragon dung."

"Well then, if you're so sure you know me better than myself, pray tell, what is it then?" He was yelling now, "Kneazle got your tongue, Pansy? You had so much to say until now, so answer me!"

She shook her had sadly, her face closed and guarded, "That's for you to understand for yourself." And with that, she turned around and strode back into the Great Hall, leaving Draco gaping and seething behind her.

What did she mean, that was for him to understand? What did he need to understand?

888

"Are you sure you won't come to breakfast, Harry?" Ron asked for the fifth time, as he lingered in the doorway.

For the fifth time, Harry answered, "Yes, Ron, go without me. I'll see you in class." Ron cast him a last, anxious, look and disappeared. Harry listened as his friend loud footsteps thumped down the stairs. When everything was quiet, and he was sure he was alone, Harry lifted his head from the pillow, and got up to wash his face.

So, Mundugus Fletcher. And the Auror, what was her name? Lydia Cardinal. He mustn't forget her. She was the fourth Auror killed this month, and the seventh since the ministry acknowledged Voldemort's return. Harry wiped a tear from his face angrily. He already had a headache from crying during the night, he didn't need it to get stronger. What right did he have to cry, anyway? He was no the one that held the wand that did it, but he was at fault they died.

When Dumbledore promised him not to keep any secrets from him, the Headmaster had meant it; he was done protecting Harry from the world, no matter how much he wanted to. Harry wasn't a child anymore; he had proved that many times before. And Harry was grateful to him; however harsh the truth was, it was better than being kept in the dark.

Every time Voldemort or the Death Eaters attacked, the headmaster called him over. If it was during the day or the evening, a House-Elf was sent to fetch him, if it was during the night, the nearest teacher doing rounds was sent to wake him up

Last night, he had woken from one nightmare to another.

Mundungus Fletcher had been a member of the Order and someone who Harry had known better than the rest of the names in the newspaper. That face, more than the others, stared up at him with accusing eyes.

He dreaded to think who might be next.

Draco raged all the way to the Potions classroom. He decided not to go back to breakfast; he didn't know if he would be able to control himself if he saw Pansy just then. Their little 'talk' had also banished his appetite completely, anyway. As he walked to classroom, Draco knew he was at least twenty minutes early. He stopped next to the locked door and slid down to a sitting position, his back against the cold wall, and hugged his knees to his chest. His bag was dropped beside him, forgotten.

_You're obsessed with him, Draco._

That's what Pansy said. Obsessed. _You've built your life around him, since you met him, Draco. It's always Potter this and Potter that, you measure yourself against him; you always compare everyone to him. _

She was right. He knew she was right, no matter how much he hated admitting it. Exactly when had he stopped measuring himself against his father, and started measuring himself against a boy his age? But that boy was Harry Potter, and that made all the difference.

He suspected it was when he offered a small, green-eyed boy a hand, and that boy looked at him with cold, hard eyes and said calmly, 'I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks'.

He still wasn't sure of what she meant by saying it wasn't hate, though. How could she know, when Draco himself had just figured it out a month ago? There was something he was missing here, some meaning to her words he couldn't comprehend…

Just than the subject of his thoughts rounded the corner, and stopped.

Draco stared at him, forgetting to scowl. Potter looked… well, awful was maybe too strong a word, but he certainly didn't look good. His hair was even more of a mess than it was usually, and the dim lightning in the corridor made his cheekbones stand out sharply.

_Was he always this thin_? Draco wondered.

As though reaching a decision, Potter took a few more steps and sat down, too, a few feet from Draco, his back against the opposite wall.

He looked at Draco with suspicion, but didn't say anything.

His eyes were slightly red, like he'd been crying, Draco noted with a detached sort of worry. Did he know that Auror? Or the other one, the man with the curious name? He had deep circles under his eyes, as well, as though he wasn't sleeping enough. Really, Draco bristled, weren't his friends taking care of him? He was obviously not well.

Then he froze, realising what he had just thought, and the fact that he had been staring at Potter for the past five minutes. He averted his eyes quickly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He was blushing!

Potter now looked confused, his eyebrows rising slightly, his mouth opening a little, as though he was about to say something.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed he had a very red mouth.

He blushed even harder, and this time it was somewhat in anger, too. What was wrong with him?

He was saved by a large group of students that chose this moment to arrive. The Slytherins surrounded him instantly, while the Gryffindors did the same with Potter, and the awkward moment was forgotten.

He noticed Potter and Granger bring their heads together momentarily, talking quietly, and Granger turn to look at him with a speculating expression. He ignored them.

Unsurprisingly, they were making this lesson's potion in pairs. Even more unsurprisingly, Professor Snape, who Draco had always liked and respected up to that point, decided to pair him with Potter. "But- Professor-" Draco had tried to protest, aware that in his confused state, he shouldn't be anywhere near the Gryffindor. Couldn't, really. His pleading naturally fell on deaf ears. Professor Snape swept away to assign more pairs, leaving Draco stammering behind him.

"Fine," he managed to grind out, turning to level a scathing glare at Potter. Maybe if he could stay angry enough, all the discomfort he was suddenly experiencing would go away. "Potter, come here. I'm not going over there," he pointed at his rival's table, which was deep in Gryffindor territory. Potter glared back at him, and Draco felt himself relax a little. Glaring was familiar. He could do glaring.

Potter knew better than to protest against anything at Professor Snape's class, so he gathered his belongings and walked over reluctantly, dropping into the chair next to Draco. He had the general air of someone forced to sit in something slimy and distinctively unpleasant, and Draco found it vaguely insulting.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Go get the ingredients!"

Potter went, giving him a look that said _words couldn't express the depth of my hate for you, Malfoy_, and Draco felt a pang of discomfort. _Stop that!_ He berated himself. _Next thing you'll know, you'll want to be his **friend**, or something. _

Potter came back to the table, balancing a tray in his hands. He put it on the table carefully, before sitting back down. "Well, what now, Malfoy? Any more orders?"

"The instructions are on the board. I'll chop, you grind. Try not to mess anything up."

The Gryffindor snorted, but complied; he took the pestle and mortar, counted out three dried bat eyes out of the small bowl they received, and started to grind them. Draco picked up the smallest knife that he had, and proceeded to cut the mandrake roots cautiously. They worked in silence for some time, Draco glancing at Potter once in a while to make sure he wasn't doing anything wrong. When he finished cutting all the different roots and leaves, he raised his head.

Potter was just tipping Poppy seed powder into a waiting dish. Draco looked over the waiting assembly of powders critically, surprised and impressed when he found all of them perfect. He gave Potter a curt nod, causing his eyes to widen slightly in astonishment, and glanced at his notes. "Right," he said, "now add two flat teaspoons of the Poppy seeds, followed by thirty milligrams of Mandrake root…"

They measured the ingredients without talking, if one didn't count the necessary 'here's the rose petals, Malfoy,' or 'stir clockwise, Potter!'.

Steam from the cauldron was fogging Potter's glasses. He sighed in annoyance. "Take over the stirring for a minute, Malfoy."

Draco obediently replaced him, fighting the urge to snicker at the way Potter looked, when Potter removed his glasses, and Draco didn't find it amusing at all anymore. Draco had only seen Potter without his glasses once before, when the other boy had been asleep, and if Draco were to be honest with himself, it wasn't a night he liked to think about.

It was very, very different thing to see him without his spectacles. Potter frowned, inspected the lenses before he wiped them on the hem of his robes. Draco was watched this so intently he almost forgot to stir the potion. Potter looked different. Younger. His eyes looked bigger, too, and unfocused. They were so green…

They weren't a normal green, Draco was certain of that. Other green-eyed people had some other colour in their irises, some change in the hue. Potter's eyes were just… emerald-green, bright and

"What's emerald green?" Potter asked, blinking owlishly at Draco before putting his glasses back on.

Draco blushed yet again in embarrassment. First he was thinking about Potter's mouth, and now staring into his eyes. He was going mad, it was official. Next thing he'd know, they'd chuck him in St. Mungo's.

"Err, Pansy's potion," he answered quickly.

He was saved from further questions as Professor Snape called from the front of the room, "Your potions should now be light blue". They both glanced down at their own potion, and Potter's glasses steamed up again. They had created it perfectly, it was indeed light blue. "Those of you who managed to concoct the potion correctly, congratulations. You have brewed a perfect antitoxic potion, which, when ingested, would counter the effects of many of the more simple poisons. Bottle up some of your potion, write your names on it, and bring it to my desk for grading. Those of you who didn't…" He didn't finish the sentence, but his smirk was full of malice, and everyone understood what he meant.

Draco ladled some of the shimmering liquid into a bottle and corked it. He wrote their names neatly on the label; it was strange, seeing their names next to each other. _But not too bad of a thing_, he added to himself.

He didn't even bother to yell at himself for that thought. It was a lost fight, anyway.

888

Harry left the dormitory about twenty-five minutes before Potions began. He had started feeling suffocated; the quiet and the shadows were getting to him. He couldn't even think about breakfast right now. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry, he just couldn't stand to see all the students, bent over their _Daily Prophets_ and discussing the recent killings in hushed voices.

His feet carried him down the staircases, towards the dungeons.

He'd just wait there until class started.

When Harry reached the corridor outside the classroom, though, he realised he wasn't the only one who'd had that particular thought. Draco Malfoy was folded against a wall, his face unusually tense, his forehead creased with thought. He turned his head when he heard Harry's approaching footsteps and Harry braced himself for the verbal attack that was sure to come; Malfoy never missed an opportunity to mock him, and this one was just too good to ignore.

To his shock, the Slytherin didn't say anything. He just continued looking at Harry, as though challenging him, his mouth a thin line. Harry, after hesitating, sat down too at what he deemed as a safe distance.

Malfoy was still staring at him. What was he doing, trying a new way of getting to Harry? Well, it was certainly working. Several expressions chased one another across the blonde's face, until it settled on annoyance. Harry frowned. Was it something he did?

Then Malfoy caught Harry's eyes, and Harry realised that the Slytherin didn't know he was staring. The other boy turned his head swiftly, presenting Harry with the back of his pale head and an ear. His ear was going red. Was he… no, that was ridicules. He couldn't be blushing.

Harry was just about to say something to ease the suddenly embarrassed silence, when the rest of the sixth year students appeared, breaking over them like a great, black wave. Ron and Hermione stopped beside him. Ron was talking animatedly with Seamus, about Quidditch, no doubt (Ron was the new Gryffindor captain; Seamus was one of the newly appointed chasers), but Hermione passed a quick look between him and Malfoy, who was now half-blocked by his cronies.

"Why is he so pink?" she asked in puzzlement. "You didn't do anything, did you, Harry? Because he's not worth "

Harry shook his head. "I didn't. He was already here when I came, but we didn't talk at all. Or fight."

"Hmm…" Hermione said, looking skeptical, and cast another look at the Slytherin.

Snape had paired him with Malfoy.

"He's trying to be easy on you, Harry," Hermione whispered to him, trying to calm him down.

"By pairing me with Malfoy? How is that called being easy on me?" He demanded, throwing both the Potions Master and the blonde Slytherin a dirty look.

"We-ell," She answered carefully, "It may seem a little strange, but I really think he is. Say what you want, but Malfoy is an excellent potions brewer. You won't muck anything up if you're with him, and Professor Snape won't have cause to snap at you."

"That's stretching it a bit far, if you ask me," he muttered, but grudgingly admitted that did, in fact, have a point.

"Potter, come here. I'm not going over there" Malfoy called from the other side of the room, looking haughty and impatient.

"Obnoxious little twerp," Harry grumbled darkly, but collected his things all the same.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go get the ingredients!"

Harry scowled at the Slytherin's smug face, but left. He took his time to collect the different ingredients and then to arrange them on the tray, but he was all too soon back beside Malfoy. The other boy's face was expressionless again, as though he got over whatever bothered him before. "Well, what now, Malfoy? Any more orders?" Harry asked coldly.

"The instructions are on the board. I'll chop, you grind. Try not to mess anything up."

Harry snorted in dislike, but followed his orders all the same.

They worked for about a quarter of an hour, before Malfoy set down his knife. He looked over the assembly of bowls and dishes Harry had set before him, and nodded in approval.Harry's jaw almost dropped. Approval? From **Malfoy**?

"Right," the other boy said, oblivious to Harry's reaction. "Now…"

They started adding the different ingredients as instructed. Once or twice, Malfoy had to correct him, snapping "only two laurel leaves, Potter!" but other than that, things were astonishingly calm between them. He even saw Hermione glance at them a couple of times, her gaze thoughtful.

His glasses were slowly being covered in steam from the boiling cauldron; he frowned. "Take over the stirring for a minute, Malfoy."

The Slytherin nodded, taking the ladle from his hand, and Harry wiped his glasses clean on his robes.

"-Emereald green…" Malfoy said from beside him.

Harry jammed his glasses back on his face, turning to look at Malfoy, "What's emerald green?"

It was very hot near the cauldron and Malfoy's face was flushed from the heat. "Pansy's potion," he answered.

"Your potions should now be light blue" Snape called. Harry peered into the cauldron. _Amazing_, Harry thought. _It's actually the right colour_. "Those of you who managed to concoct the potion correctly, congratulations. You have brewed a perfect antitoxic potion, which, when ingested, would counter the effects of many of the more simple poisons. Bottle up some of your potion, write your names on it, and bring it to my desk for grading. Those of you who didn't…" Harry hated the smirk the Potions Master wore on his face; it was the same one he directed at Harry last year after each time he had given him a failing grade, and although he knew that smirk wasn't for him now, it didn't seem any less unpleasant.

Beside him, Malfoy was bent over the cauldron, filling a small bottle. He wrote their names, inspected it suspiciously and, when he deemed it worthy, he strode over to Snape's desk, placing it arrogantly. Malfoy already knew he was going to get a perfect score. Sure enough, Snape gave him a tiny smile, nodding his head in appreciation. _Of course_, Harry thought, rolling his eyes. _At least that means I got a perfect grade, too._

They cleaned the table quickly, and Harry gathered his things, hurrying over to Hermione, who was waiting for him by the door. "How did it go?" she asked. "It seemed quiet, really. Too quiet, considering the both of you together usually manage to explode at least a few chairs, maybe a table or too."

Harry made a face at her teasing, "Very funny. No, it was surprisingly all right. Malfoy was as civil as I have ever seen him."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, "Maybe he's growing up."

Harry made an incredulous noise, "Malfoy? Never." Hermione wasn't smiling along with him. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder before urging him on.

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Draco narrowed his eyes behind them, his hands clenching into fists.

That little comment shouldn't have hurt so much.


	9. There's a first time for everything bet...

Aha! Chapter nine! It's about time, isn't it? This is my favorite chapter so far : grin : I have already started on chapter ten, not to worry. Also, I've started a little extra project- a side dish, you might say. I wanted to add different POVs, but it would've been weird to have Hermione suddenly stuck in chapter nine or something, right? So as soon as my beta finished going over them, I'll start uploading that, too. So make sure to read them!

This chapter is dedicated to all those who actually bother reading this fic, when there are things so much better out there. I love you all: kisses and hugs:

Ninth chapter, in which there is Seamus, Draco is a jealous little ferret (what's new?), and what exactly is wrong with Harry? Enjoy!

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Draco pushed his eggs around his plate, then glanced across the hall. Potter was sitting between Granger and the little Weasley girl looking tired as usual, but considerably happier. Draco sipped from his goblet before he dared to look again. He watched as Potter spread honey on a scone, his head bent low as he listened to something Weasley was saying. Weasley's red hair was bright against Potter's dark, and long strands slipped from her ponytail and brushed Potter's face.

Potter laughed, and the movement caused his hands to wobble; his knife missed the scone and instead smeared his hand with honey. The girl burst out in giggles and fished around for a napkin, but Potter just gave her a lopsided grin, shook his head and brought his hand to his mouth.

Draco froze in horror, unable to look away as Potter licked the syrupy drops clean, his face thoughtful. He could feel himself flush slowly and steadily, as heat uncurled in his stomach. Potter gave his palm a last nip and reached for another scone. Then Weasley said something, smiled, and dabbed Potter's mouth with the napkin she was holding. It was a gesture so simple, yet it contained such a sense of familiarity in it, such a feeling of friendship. It made Draco absolutely sick. Abruptly, he rose to his feet, shouldering his bag, and strode out of the hall, ignoring the bewildered looks his housemates gave him.

"Draco – " Pansy started, but her voice was lost behind the closing doors.

Outside, Draco leaned against a wall, head bent low, breathing heavy. What was **that**?

Draco tried to pass that event at breakfast as a one time thingsome confusion caused by lack of sleep and food poisoning. Yes, that was it. That strange, over warm feeling was just because the House-Elves had over-cooked the eggs. Or put something in his pumpkin juice. Draco was very good at lying. Even to himself. Especially to himself. It worked too, for about half an hour, until it was Transfiguration and Draco found himself staring at the back of Potter's head. All thoughts of food poisoning wavered pathetically, said, "Sorry, we tried," then disappeared completely.

McGonagall was lecturing about the theoretical Animagus transformation, which was a very important subject that would probably be on their end of term exams. Draco desperately tried to convince himself of the fact, but then Potter chose that exact moment to stretch. Draco's eyes were instantly glued to the Gryffindor's long arms; the thin, pale wrists that were revealed as his black sleeves slid down; and to the subtle play of his shoulder blades moving under the thin fabric of his robes.

_Gah_, he thought, and frantically tried to organize his thoughts, _The first rule of Animagus transformation are is caution—_

Potter sighed, and the sound was ridiculously loud to Draco's ears. _The first rule of Animagus transformation is—_

Potter scratched the back of his neck with his quill, leaving a small line of black ink on the pale skin. Draco's gaze fixed itself on the stain. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear it. _The first rule of the Animagus transformation— The first rule— _

Potter leaned forward, and Draco could see the top part of the other boy's spine as well as the white collar of his undershirt. _The first rule of the Animagus transformation is—_

Draco could feel the heat again, stronger than before and now unmistakable. It was the utterly humiliating heat that was, unfortunately, a part of every teenage boy's life. _No, no, no!_ He rubbed his eyes violently. _The first rule— The first— Animagus transformation— The first— Gah! _

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall's cold voice caused Draco to jump, "are you quite all right?"

He fixed slightly unfocused eyes on Professor McGonagall, who was glaring at him from behind her sever spectacles. "What?" he said, and then, sensing a golden opportunity he added hurriedly, "No actually, I'm feeling quite unwell. May I be excused to the Hospital Wing?"

Her lips thinned even more, almost disappearing from her face. "You do look a bit pink," she admitted reluctantly. "Very well, you may leave."

Draco thanked her stiffly, collected his things, and made his way out, not daring to look back. Once he was safely on the other side of the door, though, he abandoned all pretenses for dignity and fled to the nearest bathroom. _Oh, this is bad_, he thought as he washed his face in ice-cold water. His reflection looked back at him, a young man with too pointed a face and grey eyes that were slightly wild now, strands of his silvery-blond hair matted to his forehead with water.

He really, really hoped this was just his confused hormones acting up.

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Harry pushed himself to his feet and made a face at the mud that was now all over his backside. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team hurried over, some offering a hand.

"You all right, Harry?" Ron asked worriedly, as Harry refused the offered hands, swaying for a minute before righting himself. "That was a nasty landing."

Harry laughed uneasily, "Yeah, I wasn't concentrating." It was a weak excuse, but it seemed to appease the others. They smiled, shook their heads, and rose back into the air. The practice continued.

Ron, though, gave Harry a questioning look before resuming his keeper position. Harry's smile disappeared. He didn't know what was wrong with him. One minute he was fine, and the next minute his grip faltered, his hands slipped on the wet wood of his broomstick, and he barely succeeded in lowering his broom before he fell. It was something that he found happening more and more over the last weeks. At first, it was almost unnoticeable— a half second of dizziness sometimes, when he turned too fast, a moment in which his eyes lost focus and then resumed, small headaches here and there. Not something a person would actually notice, much less remember.

It had been more annoying than anything, but in the last few days, these episodes had grown to be much worse. Harry would stand up after breakfast was finished, or class was over, and immediately sat back down because his head spun. He had dropped a bottle of ink when his fingers suddenly lost all their strength, only to flush in embarrassment and mutter "sorry", along with a cleaning charm. He found himself drifting asleep in class when a sudden bout of tiredness attacked, only to blink awake later and realize he had moments missing. And now… just now, in the middle of practice, when he was thirty, maybe even forty feet above the ground, he had lost control on his Firebolt. Worst of all, and as much as he was reluctant to admit it, he thought he had lost his consciousness for a moment, too. It was starting to make him uneasy. Still, no teenage boy would want to think something was wrong with him, even Harry, who should have been used to it by now. _I'm probably just sick_, he told himself. _Just not sleeping enough_.

"You okay there, Harry?" Ron shouted from above him, and Harry was startled to see that he was still on the ground.

"Yes," he answered, and kicked off the muddy grass back to the air.

When they arrived back at the common room, tired, dripping water (and in Harry's case, a little mud, too) and shivering, Harry wondered whether to consult with Hermione about his strangely weak state or not. _Better not_, he decided. _She'll just be worried over nothing. _

Seamus hurried upstairs, yelling, "I'm first in the shower!"

Ron rushed after him muttering, "Damn, he always uses all the hot water. Seamus!"

Harry smiled and started in the direction of the boys staircase himself when Seamus came thundering down, shirtless and holding one of his shoes in his hand, the other still on his foot.

"Seamus!" Hermione said, colouring slightly. "There are impressionable first years down here!"

"They're welcome to be impressed," the sandy-haired boy answered easily. "Where's Dean?"

Hermione still looked disapproving, "He was feeling bad so he went to the Hospital Wing. Said he was feeling dizzy and tired. Spilled all his red paint on the carpet when he dropped it," she pointed at a wet spot on the carpet. "Probably the flu."

Seamus pursed his lips, "Yeah, all right. Thanks." He winked at the staring first years and ran back upstairs.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was an amused twist to her mouth she didn't quite succeed in hiding. "Boys," she said, before returning to her book.

Harry relaxed. Dean's description sounded exactly like his condition. He followed the Irish boy to their dorm. He'd go to Madam Pomfrey tomorrow if he didn't feel any better.

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Draco stirred his porridge with his spoon. Breakfast wasn't as important as mental debate he was currently in the middle of: should he avoid Potter by faking sick for a week, and give his bloody libido time to calm down, or should he save himself from the humiliation that was sure to come by jumping from the Astronomy tower? Both were quite valid ideas, but he was leaning towards the Astronomy tower. Death couldn't be as bad as being _attracted_ to Scarhead.

He was attracted to girls, for Salazar's sake! To soft curves that were decidedly unmanly and to long hair, and to endless shapely legs and— and apparently Potter, too. The Gryffindor boy had just come into the Great Hall. His black hair was falling into his eyes, his glasses were crooked on his nose, and his robes were rumpled. Draco frowned as Potter sat besides his two goons, Granger the all-knowing, and Weasley the freckled fool.

Potter yawned, raised his graceful hand to cover his mouth, and in the process, knocked his glasses off. He blushed darkly as Granger shook her head and retrieved them from her own bowl of porridge.

It was kind of adorable.

_Right then_. _Astronomy tower it is_.

He didn't throw himself off the tower that day, if only because of the fact that as a Slytherin, his self-preservation impulses were extremely strong. He had also ruled out going to Madam Pomfrey for two reasons: first, she would recognize his bluff, and second, he couldn't afford to get behind on his schoolwork. He was fully intending to beat Granger this year, once and for all.

Malfoys never cower in the face of problems, his father told him once. Still, Draco was sure his father had never faced the problem of being attracted to his most hated rival, who, to top it all, was a boy.

Pretty sure.

He **really** didn't want to go there.

_And I thought that after fifth year, my life couldn't become more of a mess_.

"Draco," Pansy's impatient voice brought him out of his disturbing thoughts and he look up, startled, to find that she was about to leave for class, "we need to leave for Defence, or we'll be late." She tugged at his sleeve to emphasis her point, and Draco scowled at her. He stood up to follow her before a thought occurred to him. He had Defence. With Potter.

Draco's scowl faded. Instead, his expression turned almost miserable.

_I hate my life_.

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Harry fell into his regular seat and sighed. Despite being completely exhausted from yesterday, he had been up all night with nightmares. He was paying the price for it now, and could barely keep his eyes open, never mind keeping his concentration in class. He was just lucky that he sat at the back of the Defence classroom; Shacklebolt would be sure to notice how tired he was if closer. Ron and Hermione looked a little worried, but didn't ask anything; Ron didn't wake up during the night, nor any of the other boys. After the first few nightmares, Harry had learned to sleep with silencing charms on his curtains. They didn't know he was still waking up screaming sometimes, and he wasn't about to tell them.

"Good morning," Shacklebolt said from the front of the class, and Harry raised his head from the table to look at him. Shacklebolt's eyes lingered on him a few seconds before moving on, and Harry gave a tiny nod; _I'm fine_.

After about half-an-hour of lecturing, Kingsley closed his book. "Now," the Auror boomed, "we will practice duelling. I understand some of you already have experience for last year, in a group called Dumbledore's Army," he coughed a little, and Harry flushed as he remembered that mess and the part Kingsley himself played at it. "This year, however, it will be done under the supervision of a teacher," Harry turned an even darker red, "and we will use all of the hexes and curses not only learned from this year, but from pervious years as well. Of course, if anyone of you knows any other useful spells— as long as they're legal it's perfectly alright to use them, too." He looked over them thoughtfully, "Who here has experience in dulling?" About half the class raised their hands. Most had been members of the DA, except for one person. Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin was looking at the Professor defiantly, sharp chin sticking out arrogantly, as if daring him to say something. "I'll divide you to pairs," Shacklebolt continued. He started assigning partners, and the entire class was soon divided into groups of twos.

Harry was paired with Seamus, who grinned at him mischievously and waved his wand in Harry's face. "Oh, no," he said, not sounding worried at all, "how ever can I face the great and fearsome Harry Potter? All that'll be left of me will be a tiny little pile of ashes." He brought his face close to Harry's and whispered in a frightened, small voice "I don't want to die young." Then his serious face crumbled, and he started to laugh.

"You're a loon, Finnigan," Harry said, but he grinned as well.

Ron was assigned to Blaise Zabini, but it was nothing compared to Hermione and Malfoy, who were partnered. Both scowled at each other in loathing, and both fingered their wands.

"Get Ready," Shacklebolt shouted. "Bow to each other." They all bowed, except Seamus, who curtsied. Harry couldn't help but snicker a little. "And on threeone, two, three!"

Spells flew across the room a second later. They bounced off walls, and collided into each other with a mass of exploding colours.

Harry sent a body bind at Seamus, who ducked, and countered with a hex meant to momentarily blind him, to which Harry quickly erected a shield. The curse bounced off, and hit Ron who was standing near by. "Oh, damn. Sorry Ron!" Harry called out to his friend, cringing.

Seamus just pouted. "No fair, Potter! We didn't learn that in class. You're using your superior Dark Lord fighting abilities against me!"

"Professor Kingsley said we could," Harry pointed out, and moved out of the way from a curse Seamus half-heartedly aimed at him.

"Teacher's pet," Seamus teased, and Harry coloured.

"Shut it, you," he mumbled, and then grinned as an idea entered his mind. "_Silencio_!"

Seamus' mouth moved, his expression turning to shock, and then he waved a fist at Harry, who was chuckling, mouthed "You're going down!" and tackled Harry.

They both went down.

"Ah, Seamus!" Harry said, as Seamus, who had the element of surprise, quickly gained the upper hand and sat on him. The Irish-boy pointed at his mouth. Harry shook his head, smirked and said, "but I like you quiet," he said, which made Seamus roll his eyes and start to tickle Harry.

"All right, all – right," Harry panted through his giggles, "I'll – remove the spell, just – stop tickling me!" By now, all of the class was watching, except Hermione, who was looking at Malfoy, her face unreadable. The Slytherin looked murderous, for some reason. Harry coloured when he felt everyone's eyes on him, and he quickly pushed Seamus off.

Seamus rolled his eyes and helped him up, before his mouth thinned. "You're bleeding," he said.

"What?" Harry blinked. Seamus pointed at his cheek. Harry touched it, and a few drops of blood appeared on his fingertips.

"It's just a scratch," he said. "I probably cut it on something on that was on the floor."

"Right."

"Class dismissed!" Shacklebolt announced. Harry was just about out the door with his friends when the Auror added, "Mr. Potter, please stay behind." Harry motioned to Ron and Hermione to leave without him, and after Seamus hesitated, he waved him away, too.

After the last student left, Shacklebolt closed the door and returned to his desk.

"Come here, Harry," he said.

"Are you all right?" he asked, when Harry sat before him. "You look unwell. Are you sleeping enough?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I'm okay," he said. "I probably just caught the flu or something. There's a bout of it going around."

"Hmm," the Auror said. "You have a scratch on your face."

Harry touched it, and frowned when his fingers still came away specked with blood. _That's strange_, he thought_. It should've stopped by now_.

"Here, let me heal it," Kingsley said, tilting Harry's face and pressing his wand to the scratch. It tingled for a second, and Harry could feel his skin stitching itself back up. He opened his mouth to thank the professor, but the door opened, and startled him.

"So sorry to interrupt," said the cool voice of Draco Malfoy from the doorway, and Harry jerked his head back, away from Kingsley's hand. Malfoy offered them a sharp smile, although his eyes were glittering in a strange way that wasn't pleasant at all. "I forgot my book."

"It's fine," Kingsley answered, and straightened, looking perfectly collected, as opposed to Harry, who was by now tomato-red. "Mr. Potter was just about to leave as well. You two should hurry, or you'll be late for your next class."

"Of course," Malfoy said smoothly and ever so politely, but his eyes never left Kinsley's face. "Are you coming, Potter?"

Harry nodded and followed him out of the classroom.

Outside, as soon as the door closed, Malfoy turned to face him, as fast as a snake rising to strike. "What the hell was **that**, Potter?" he hissed.

Harry was taken aback, "What?"

"You and that bloody Auror, cuddling like there was no tomorrow, that's what!" Malfoy spat out. His face was white except for two bright spots of anger on his cheeks.

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Draco didn't miss Shacklebolt's worried look at Potter at the beginning of the class. _Getting fatherly instincts, are we?_ He thought, more in curiosity than in anything else.

He spent most of the lecture jotting down notes, although the black head drooping a few tables away broke his concentration time and time again.

"Now," said Shacklebolt after a while, "we will practice duelling. I understand some of you already have experience for last year, in a group called Dumbledore's Army," he coughed a little, and Draco could see Potter turn red a few feet away. "This year, however, it will be done under the supervision of a teacher, and we will use all of the hexes and curses not only learned from this year, but from pervious years as well. Of course, if anyone of you knows any other useful spells— as long as they're legal –" he glanced at Draco quickly "it's perfectly alright to use them, too."

Draco felt his temper rising, and when the Auror asked who had previous experience in duelling, he raised his hand, his gaze challenging. _So what if my father taught me_, he thought angrily_. Isn't you teaching Potter exactly the same? Don't you dare look down on me_.

Potter was assigned to Finnigan, which Draco was glad of. He couldn't face Potter in a duel right now. Then Finnigan brought his face close to Potter's – too close, in Draco's opinion – said something, and Potter smiled fondly. And Draco found himself thinking, _Merlin, he has a beautiful smile. How come I never noticed before?_

"Granger and Malfoy," Kingsley said, and Draco turned his head quickly, appalled. Not Granger! Potter was momentarily forgotten about. Draco scowled at her, and she looked at him with just as much hatred. When they started duelling, her quick reflexes surprised him, but he was not a seeker for nothing. They fought for some time, neither gaining an advantage. Draco just jumped out of the way of a curse and opened his mouth to hex her back, when he saw Finnigan tackle Potter, then sit on his stomach. Forgetting his duel with Granger, Draco stopped mid hex to watch the spectacle. Potter and Finnigan were drawing a crowd now, and most of their classmates had now stopped to watch the pair with an amused air. Draco felt his lips tighten as Potter laughed, pointed his wand at Finnigan's mouth and muttered a spell.

"A silencing charm," Granger said from next to him, and he suddenly remembered they were in a middle of a duel. "Clever." Draco was forced to agree.

Both the boys got up, and Shacklebolt dismissed the class. As Draco started to put his books back in his bag, he overheard the Auror asking Potter to stay behind after class. _What could they have to talk about?_ he wondered, his curiosity piqued. He left his book on the desk before he left the classroom, and saw Kingsley close the door behind him.

After a minute or two, he said to Pansy and Blaise, "Damn, I forgot my book! I have to go get it. Don't wait for me!" Pansy's expression darkened, as though she could sense he was lying, but at that moment, he couldn't care less. He hurried back to the now closed classroom, and after a brief hesitation, opened the door.

He froze as Potter jerked his face away from Kingsley's hand. "So sorry to interrupt," he forced out through clenched teeth as he watched Potter flush a dark red. "I forgot my book". _Don't act like nothing happened just now_, he wanted to shout at the Auror, who was looking at him, unruffled. _I saw you!_

"It's fine, Mr. Potter was just about to leave as well. You two should hurry, or you'll be late for your next class."

_Hypocrite! Like hell he was about to leave!_ Draco was fuming inside. Outside, he only answered, "Of course." _May you die a slow and painful death_, he added silently, hoping his eyes conveyed message he didn't dare to say out loud. "Are you coming, Potter?"

There was no way he was leaving without him. Potter nodded, still a little red. When the door closed behind them, Draco rounded on him, his eyes narrowed to slits, "What the hell was **that**, Potter?"

Potter looked confused at Draco's sudden anger, "What?"

Draco was shaking by now, "You and that bloody Auror, cuddling like there was no tomorrow, that's what!"

Potter stumbled, his eyes very wide and so very green behind his stupid glasses. "What? What are you on about, Malfoy?"

"I saw you," Draco hissed. "He was about to kiss you! I saw it!"

"Oh, Merlin, What's wrong with you?" Potter exclaimed, paling, "Why would he- why would I- that's the most absurd, not to mention disgusting—"

"Then why did you blush when I opened the door?" Draco demanded "If not because I caught you?"

"Look, Malfoy, for the last time, it's not what you think!" Potter was starting to panic now, he could hear it in his voice. "He was just healing my scratch!"

"Your… scratch?" Draco repeated, thrown off-course.

"Yes!" Potter said, pointing at his cheek. Without thinking, Draco closed the space between them, almost pressing Potter against a wall, and inspected his cheek. Potter swallowed. Sure enough, there was a needle-thin, almost-unnoticeable pink line a little bellow his left eye. Draco pressed a finger against it. The skin felt oddly tender and soft, as though really newly healed.

"All right," he said at last. "I believe you."

"That's nice," Potter said, sounding a bit breathless. "Can you, err, move back now, maybe?"

Draco frowned at him for a moment, before comprehension dawned. He felt his cheeks burn as he stumbled backwards, almost tripping over his own legs. Potter's face was a little red, too. "I didn't mean to…" he motioned between them, not really meeting Potter's eyes. Potter waved a hand in dismissal. He was still pressed against the wall, as though trying to get as far as he could from Draco. "We should get to class," Draco said, after an awkward silence. Potter nodded, and after an exchange of another glance and blush, they both started to walk in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom.

"What's it to you, anyway?" Potter asked, out of nowhere, when they were near the classroom.

"Hmm?" Draco turned his head to look at him.

"Even if you thought we were about to kissnot that we werewhat did it matter to you?"

Draco stopped, and his mouth opened in shock, before he quickly closed it. Blood pounded in his ears, and the truth hit him like a blow to the stomach. What was it to him? He couldn't answer the truth, that seeing Potter's delicate chin in Kingsley's large hand shocked him. That even the idea, however unreasonable at retrospect, that the Auror was about to kiss Potter, made Draco insanely, blindly jealous? That he wanted to do that himself? That he hated the idea of anyone, anyone other then himself, kissing Potter? No. He could absolutely not tell Potter any of this.

"I'm a Prefect," he said at last, choosing his words carefully. "It's my duty to ensure that the rules are kept, and to report any improper behaviour to Professor Dumbledore. A relationship between a teacher and a student is forbidden."

Potter seemed to mull this over. At last he nodded, accepting the explanation, and Draco gave a tiny, inward sigh of relief. Then Potter added, "Not to mention we're both male."

Draco felt something cold and heavy sink inside him. "Yes," he said, and resumed walking quickly, so the surprised Gryffindor had to run a few steps to keep up. "Not to mention that."

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"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, you are nine minutes late! Explain yourselves!" Professor McGonagall demanded as soon as they opened the door. They both froze.

"Professor! Professor Shacklebolt asked Harry to stay after class!" Ron piped up from his place in the third row. When Harry nodded, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Very well," she said. "You may sit down, Mr. Potter. What about you, Mr. Malfoy? Did Professor Shacklebolt ask you to stay behind as well?"

"No," Malfoy answered, looking back at her with a cool expression. "He did not. I forgot my book and returned to retrieve it."

"And…?" McGonagall prompted. "Surely, that wouldn't take so long?"

"No," Malfoy said again. His eyes darted to Harry, and for a second, Harry was sure that the Slytherin would start to explain what really happed, accusations and all, and if that happened, Harry would just die on the spot.

"I got detained."

Harry blinked. That was it? Why was Malfoy keeping his mouth shut for a change? The Professor pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, but I will not accept that explanation. You will serve detention—"

"It's my fault, Professor." Harry blushed when all eyes snapped to him, including Malfoy's. The other boy's eyes were normally pale grey and narrowed, but now they were wide with surprise and almost looked to be a light blue… For the first time, Harry noticed Malfoy and Sirius had the same eyes.

"What?" McGonagall said. It was not every day that Harry Potter defended Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy intruded on a personal conversation," Harry explained. He refused to think of Malfoy's eyes, or of Sirius, or of the fact that it hit him, just now, that Malfoy was Sirius's close blood relative. "There was a slight misunderstanding, which I had to explain."

"I see." She didn't press further, and Harry was grateful. "Very well. Sit down, Mr. Malfoy, or would you rather still receive detention?"

Whispers broke around the class, until McGonagall hushed them sharply, and Harry was aware of Malfoy trying to catch his eyes. He ignored him, and refused to turn around the entire lesson.

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Ten pages! Am I a goddes or what? Just kidding, of course. Well, I might as well give it a try, since everybody else is doing it: Read and Review, people, your written words are like music to my ears (or rather, like Johnny Depp to my eyes)!


	10. A fight and a kiss betad

And yet another chapter! I am sorry this took so long, me and my beta were both busy. But, now, chapter ten! (Or eight, if you count the first two as prologue) and it's long! So, sorry, but I hope it was worth the wait. It's really my favourite chapter so far.

Dedicated to all my lovely lovely reviewers, you make my day and my week. I would glomp you if I knew who you were : grin :

So, chapter ten, in which there is action, a fight, lots of blood, and a healthy amount of angst. Also, no one dies this time! But Draco is still as much a Drama Queen as ever.

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Potter was gone as soon as class was over, he ran out the door so fast even Granger and Weasley were left staring after him. Draco contemplated whether to go search for him or not, but decided it would just seem too strange, going after Potter just to ask him some silly question.

Why did the other boy defend him? The answer was obvious, really. He didn't need Potter to confirm it. The Gryffindor just didn't like injustice. He was Noble and Fair, after all. At least most of the time. Draco didn't do anything wrong, and so, Potter didn't want to see him punished. Reasonable enough.

But oh, that was it. A smile tugged at Draco's lips, before widening so much he had to pretend to cough so he'd be able to bring a hand to his face to hide it. He was feeling happy, giddy even, lighter than he had in weeks; Potter never bothered to stick up for him before, did he? No, even saint Potter didn't defend those he hated. Yet he did defend Draco.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

He packed his belongings lazily, before he shouldered his bag and left the classroom with Pansy. She was wearing that dark expression again, the one he got used to seeing in the last month or so. But he couldn't be bothered, not now. "Coming?" he asked, before the smile took over again, surprising them both; Pansy blinked, taken aback, and then the anger seemed to leak out of her face, leaving a peculiar sort of sadness in its place.

"Yes," she answered.

He was already out of the room when he noticed something amiss. "Where's Blaise?"

Pansy shrugged. "He left to the loo straight after you returned to the Defence classroom," she said.

Draco frowned, but forgot about it soon after.

It was already late at night when Draco remembered. He was in the dormitory, towelling his hair dry after his shower, humming tunelessly as he did so. Blaise entered the room just as Draco finished buttoning his pyjamas shirt. He looked up. "Hi."

Blaise nodded at him and dumped his bag on his own bed. He removed his cloak and robes, throwing them on the floor, and started on his shirt. "You look happy," he said. There was a strange look in his eyes, shadowed, that made Draco uneasy, although he couldn't pinpoint why. Something strange in his greeting smile.

"Do I?" Draco answered, cautious all of the sudden, despite having always felt comfortable around the other boy. "Tired, mostly."

"Mmm," was Blaise's reply. "Go to sleep then. Long day and all, neh?"

_Too much teeth_, Draco realized suddenly.

He narrowed his eyes, slightly, as the other boy changed into his pyjamas. It was then that he remembered. "You missed Transfiguration today," he commented off-handedly, although he didn't feel all that calm inside. Something wasn't quite right. "Do you need my notes?"

"Yeah, thanks." Blaise said, his back to Draco, and got into bed. Draco hesitated, then did the same. They put out the lights with their wands, and the room was cast into darkness, disturbed only by the bluish light of the half-full moon outside.

"Draco." Blaise said quietly after a few minutes, and Draco turned his face towards him. He couldn't see the other boy, as the curtains were half-closed around his bed. He could make out Blaise's fingers, tight and pale against the curtains, cut-off as though in mid-air, and a dark glint of eyes from the blackness inside the canopy.

"Yes?" he answered.

Blaise's voice was quiet, and holding none of the indifference from before. "Be careful."

He closed the curtains, and Draco was left staring at nothing.

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Hermione and Ron caught up with Harry outside the Charms classroom. "Hey!" Ron shouted. "What the bloody hell was that about?"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded him, but she, too, was looking at Harry closely. "I agree with the question, though, if not with the way Ron phrased it."

Harry scratched his neck, uncomfortable. "It was nothing," he said.

"Nothing—" Ron started, but closed his mouth when Hermione stepped on his foot. "Ow!" he hissed, then glared at her.

"You don't usually defend Malfoy." Hermione said, ever the voice of logic.

"He did me a favour, sort of," Harry supplied, feeling himself blush a little and knowing Hermione, at least, noticed it. "I thought it was only fair to do the same."

"A favour," Hermione repeated, her voice flat, but changed the subject, to his relief. "So what did Professor Shacklebolt want to talk about?"

"Oh, just wanted to know if I was feeling all right and to heal my scratch." He was blushing again, he just knew it.

Ron squinted at him "You're all red, mate. You shouldn't have walked so fast just to avoid us."

Charms dragged by slowly, and Harry found himself drifting asleep, nudged back to consciousness every time by Hermione's elbow. As the class ended, she nudged him again. "Lunch, Harry. Honestly, didn't you sleep enough?" she lowered her voice, "Ron said you haven't had any nightmares for a while now."

"Sorry," he said, pushing himself to his feet "No, I slept fine." The world titled, and he crashed back into the chair. "Sorry," he repeated, fighting the dizziness, as everyone turned to look at him "The chair's leg was on my robes."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron snorted loudly, but they both seemed to believe him. "Let's go," Ron urged them impatiently, "There's sausages for lunch today."

"Mmm." Harry answered, but he didn't feel hungry at all.

_What is wrong with me?_

The rest of the day seemed to fly by. Everyone was settled in the common room, when Harry cursed and jerked his hand away from the table he was doing his homework on. A few drops of blood landed on the parchment, before he brought his hand to his mouth.

Hermione looked up from her book, and Ron and Seamus from their chess game. Dean and Ginny, who were both on the sofa opposite from him, turned to look at him, too. "What's wrong?" Ginny asked, a faint line of worry forming between her eyebrows.

Harry shook his head, embarrassed. "Someone left a pin on the table. Probably some first year working on Transfiguration homework. I just pressed my hand on it accidentally." Blood was continuing to drip on the table.

"Here," Ginny said abruptly, getting up and kneeling by him, "Give me your hand. Mum taught me a few useful spells," she explained, "With six boys in the house, someone is always getting hurt." Gratefully, Harry held out his hand to her. She tapped the small puncture wound with her wand and said something softly, and the wound closed. "There," she said, but didn't let go of his hand.

"Err, thanks," Harry answered, and then blinked, feeling more and more uncomfortable. "Ginny?"

"Yes?" she answered distractedly, still staring at his hand.

"Can I have my hand back, maybe?" he was turning red again, damn it! "It's just, I need to finish the essay…" The others grinned, Seamus with a suggestive quirk of the eyebrow, but Ginny only raised her face to look at his, her expression serious.

"Harry, what's that on your hand?"

"What?" he asked. She tightened her fingers on his wrist and ran a finger along the back of his hand. "It looks like scars. It looks like… words…"

Harry snatched his hand away, "It's nothing!"

Ginny's frown grew, "But there were words, I saw them."

"It's nothing!" he shouted, and everybody jumped, looking at him in shock. He felt confined, suddenly. "I… I need to go to meet Professor Dumbledore," he fibbed. He had another half-hour before their lesson, but left the room hurriedly before anyone could say anything.

He wondered aimlessly, shivering and wishing he'd have thought of grabbing his cloak, at least. It was much colder in the corridors than in the common room. His feet carried him to the entrance hall, and he was just contemplating whether to go outside and brave the cold or to turn back and go somewhere warm, when the doors opened.

Blaise Zabini stepped through, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes. He stopped when he saw Harry, and after a brief hesitation, the Slytherin nodded at him. "Potter."

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Zabini," he acknowledged back.

Zabini studied him for a few seconds, and Harry, feeling more annoyed by the minute, was about to turn around and leave when the other boy suddenly asked, "How's your scratch?"

Harry's hand automatically flew to his face, even as he said "What?"

Zabini smiled, although he didn't seem amused at all. It was a cold smile, more of grim satisfaction than of anything else. "Never mind," he answered, and left.

Harry stared after him, eyes narrowed. _Really, _he thought, _what was that all about?_

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Draco and Blaise acted as though nothing was said that night for the next few days, but Draco didn't forget what the other boy had said, or rather, what he insinuated he saw.

_Be careful._

_I am careful_, he thought sulkily. It wasn't as though Blaise could actually blame him for something, he was just jumping to conclusions. It was perfectly reasonable that Draco really had acted as he did because of his responsibility as a Prefect.

That sounded lame even to his own ears.

The longer as he thought about it, the more annoyed and restless Draco became. And, to top it all, Potter was ignoring him again which only made him angrier and more on edge.

_You can't help me, then forget I exist_, he seethed as the Gryffindor once again walked passed him without so much as sparing him a glance. _Hey, look at me!_

By the time Friday arrived, he was one pissed-off ball of nerves.

In Defence, Potter walked in, pulled Weasley the oaf to the side when Draco stuck out a leg for him, and steered the spluttering redhead to their seat without so much as glaring at Draco. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge him. Draco was so furious he nearly threw his incredibly heavy one-thousand and twenty three pages Defence book at Potter's infuriating head.

Things did not improve during the lesson. In fact, it only grew worse (_how is that even possible_, Draco wondered), because Potter smiled two times at Granger, three times at Weasley, five times at Finnigan and seven and a half times (the half an adorable shy smile, and if Draco hadn't been so hacked off at that point he would have melted on the spot) at Susan Bones, who until that point Draco had actually tolerated, despite the fact that she was a Hufflepuff. Now, of course, she deserved to die, the seducing wench, for batting her eyes at Potter and smiling at him the entire lesson.

Really, why wasn't Shacklebolt kicking her out? She was disturbing the studious atmosphere in the class.

It was completely understandable, of course, that by the time the lesson ended he felt he had never been more livid in his life, and that if he didn't get some reaction -- any reaction – from Potter and immediately, he would go mad.

So he got up, shouldered his bag, and timed himself to go through the door when Granger was passing through. He rudely shouldered past her, knocking her to the side, and her bag slipped out of her hands, the contents spilling on the floor. "Watch it, Mudblood!" he hissed, but quietly, so only she, Potter and Weasley heard.

Potter finally looked at him then, his eyes furious and hateful but _there_, and there was the fire that made Draco's blood sing in his veins. Granger bent to pick up her things, and Weasley kneeled to help her, the three of them glaring at him. "Just you wait, Malfoy," the redhead threatened, his large hands collecting various books.

Draco sneered down at him. "Take care, Mudblood, or he'll steal your books since he can't afford his own."

Pansy tried to tug Draco away, but he jerked out of her grip. "What's wrong, Potter?" he asked, revelling in the way those green eyes focused on him. Like there was nothing else in the world right then except for Draco.

"Piss off, Malfoy." Potter said, but Draco could see he was itching to punch him. _Just a little more_, he thought. _Just a tiny bit more_.

"I really don't feel like pissing off, actually," he drawled as malicious as he could manage, and Potter clenched his fists. _Salazar, he's beautiful like this_. If Potter didn't throw a punch soon Draco would just kiss him and the entire bloody world be damned. But he could see Potter was close to breaking.

"Why aren't you helping the Mudblood, Potter?" The way the Gryffindor's cheeks were flushed in anger, the way his lips curled back in a way that was almost cruel -- Draco could live for years on that memory alone. "Or have you finally realised that is where she belongs, down on the—"

And he had been expecting the punch, really, but it still caught him by surprise when Potter lashed out. Draco wasn't fast enough to move entirely out of the way, but the fist struck his shoulder instead of his jaw. He stumbled, and made a grab for Potter's arm in order to balance himself. They both toppled down, and the air went out of Draco's lungs as he hit something warm and bony. Potter. He had landed on Potter. Draco winced as his knuckles scraped against the harsh stone floor, and only then did he realise that he had put his hand under Potter's head to protect it from hitting the floor. He didn't have time to wonder about it though, because Potter brought his knee up in a dirty and decidedly unmanly move, and Draco folded up in pain, gasping for air. He struck out blindly, and felt his hand connect with something hard that felt like ribs, and from then on it was a vicious, dirty fight where each boy tried to gain the upper hand.

They rolled around for what seemed like eternity, and Draco was dimly aware of people shouting and jumping out of their way, but he didn't pay attention to them. This was somehow more important than any fight other fight he had had with Potter. It didn't matter that Draco was getting hit in every vulnerable place he had or that he ached all over; all that mattered was the feel of Potter's body under his own and the non-existent distance between their faces and the fact that even the blood in his mouth tasted sweet right then.

They couldn't last much longer. Draco was already having trouble breathing, but he knew he had to win this fight. It was a matter of respect, of proving that he was an equal, and that he was worthy enough. But Potter was stronger, and he was winning, and Draco was slowing down but Potter showed no sign of tiring and then –

It was over. Draco blinked, and realised he had won. It seemed as if all the strength had gone out of Potter at once, like a bubble bursting. Potter was lying under Draco, and Draco's hands were fisted in the other boy's robes and his knees were pressed to the sides of Potter's hips, Potter's sharp hipbones digging into his thighs. Draco blinked again and thought, _I won_.

And then he realised that Potter didn't just give up, and that something wasn't right at all. He looked down at the boy under him, and it took him a minute to understand what was wrong. Potter looked like he had collapsed. The Gryffindor was pale, so pale he was almost the colour of his shirt and even Draco's hand looked dark in comparison. Draco was breathing heavily in great gulps of air, but Potter's breath was shallow, his chest almost still. Draco could feel Potter's heart against his hand, (which he had flattened, at some point, and it was funny, really, because he couldn't remember doing that) and it was pounding so fast he thought it might burst. The Gryffindor's eyes were closed, glasses lost at the fight, his mouth open a little, and blood was smeared across the corner of his mouth and his chin where Draco vaguely remembered punching him.

He might have been beautiful before, but he was breathtaking like this. Like a wax doll. And almost as lifeless. _What is wrong with him?_ Draco thought frantically. _No panicking, do something, Draco. Think. Maybe if you blew air into his mouth he would breathe better._

_Right_, he thought dazedly, _that sounded logical_. He started bending down to do just that –

And rough arms jerked him off, slammed him against the wall, and made him hiss out in pain. "What the hell did you do to him, you bloody little Death Eater?" Weasley snarled, and Draco tried to move away from the blow that he knew was coming. It never came though. Pansy threw herself at Weasley, shrieking, and Draco toppled over into Blaise's waiting arms, and then Shacklebolt came out and everyone went quiet.

"What is going on here?" he demanded. Out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Granger and Finnigan pull Potter upright while he swayed on his feet. He was still very pale, but at least fully conscious, and glaring at Draco like he hadn't looked half-dead a moment before. There was a nasty bruise starting to form on the side of his face. Draco wiped away the sweat trickling from his own forehead, and his hand came away red.

"Malfoy attacked Harry!" Weasley piped, making a rude gesture at Draco when the Auror turned to look at him and Blaise.

"He did not!" Pansy shouted. "It was Potter who punched Draco first!" She latched on to Draco's arm and returned the rude gesture when Kingsley turned back to Potter questioningly.

"Is this true, Mr. Potter?" the Auror asked quietly. Potter seemed to hesitate for a minute, then he stuck his chin out defiantly and met Shacklebolt's eyes.

"Yes."

"I see," Shacklebolt sounded disappointed. "In that case –"

"Malfoy provoked him, Sir!" Granger spoke up, and Draco quickly glanced at her.

_Damn_, he thought_. I'm dead meat_.

"He said things – awful things…" the brown-haired girl trailed off, looking at the ground.

"Is that true, Mr. Malfoy?" Shacklebolt's piercing eyes were now trained on him.

He could see the Gryffindors looking at him in utter hatred. They thought, based on prior experience, that he would deny it. Well, if Potter spoke the truth, Draco would show that he was no less of a man. "Yes, I did." he answered, and heard the surprised muttering break out around him. He kept his eyes fixed on Potter's, though.

_Am I worthy enough for you now? Is this good enough?_

"I see," the Auror repeated, and gave Draco an unreadable look. "You will both serve detention. You will be sent the time and date by owl, and I am also taking thirty points from each house." There was a collective groan. Draco and Potter kept silent, glowering at each other. Shacklebolt looked directly at Potter, "You two will do well to clean yourselves up before your next class. Dismissed."

They left the classroom and Pansy tugged Draco in the direction of the nearest lavatory. He reluctantly followed her, supported awkwardly by Blaise.

Add to last. "Let's get you fixed up," she said, not looking at him. "I hope you know some good healing spells, because I'm utter rubbish at them". She studied his face for minute, "Merlin, Draco. You're a complete mess."

Later, when she was wiping the blood from his face, she asked softly, "Was it really worth it? Is his attention really that important to you?"

Draco gingerly tested his sprained ankle, which he had just finished healing. It ached, but it would do for the time being, and would be good as new in a few days. "Hmm?" he said.

"You're really in love with him, aren't you?" she said in a deadpan voice, and looked at him in the eyes for the first time since the fight.

"What?" he exclaimed, shocked and completely mortified. "Where did you – what are you talking about – in love with Potter, of all things –"

Pansy gave him a sad smile, "You're not as good at hiding things as you think you are, Draco. I can see how you feel about him."

"But in love – " he spluttered. In love? Love was something that happened to others. In lust, maybe. So Draco wanted Potter, so what? So did half of the student body. So he wanted – _needed_, a small annoying voice at the back of his head insisted, and he squashed it down viciously – Potter's attention. So he had a slight – _Pfft, whom are you kidding?_ The same voice said, and Draco hissed at it to go away and _shut up_ -- obsession with him. But to go so far as to say he was _in love_ with Potter, that was absurd. That was the most ridiculous thing Draco had ever heard. He opened his mouth to tell Pansy that –

And what came out was a very stupid, "What?"

Pansy smiled again, although she looked close to tears. "Takes one to know one," she told him, and before he could process what she said, she leaned closed, kissed him very briefly on the lips. It was barely more than a warm breath of air on his mouth, and then she stood up very quickly. "We'd better get to class," she said, and turned away. "We're already very late."

Draco regained control of his mouth "Pansy –"

"If you're really serious about him, Draco, then I wish you all the luck in the world. But I really, really hope you know what you are doing." She was out the door before he could answer, and he heard her break into a run after a few steps.

He sat back down heavily. _In love?_

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Harry ignored Malfoy for the next few days; he didn't know what game the Slytherin was playing. First Malfoy threw a fit when he found Harry and Professor Shacklebolt in a compromising situation (Harry still blushed when he thought of it), then the Slytherin helped him out in Transfiguration, despite the treat of detention. Something was going on and Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

He could see the other boy was annoyed by Harry's utter disregard for him, but he didn't understand why. Come Friday, Malfoy was all but asking outright for a fight when he stuck out a leg to trip Ron in Defence.

"It's not worth it," Harry hurriedly said, and pulled Ron to their seats. He could feel Malfoy glaring at him all through the lesson, especially when Susan bones smiled at him. _Does he fancy her?_ Harry wondered, as she batted her lashes at him_. He can rest assured, then. She's a nice enough girl, but she isn't really my type_.

He could see his mental message didn't get across to Malfoy, though. As soon as class ended the Slytherin headed straight for him. He pushed Hermione to the side as soon as she was at the door and her bag dropped, spilling her books on the ground.

_Damn it, Malfoy_, Harry thought angrily, _you have a problem with me, take it out on me, not on Hermione!_

Malfoy spouted the usual insults, although he was even more nasty than usual. "Piss off, Malfoy," Harry said tiredly, feeling his head starting to ache. He had been up half the night with nightmares, and wasn't in the mood to deal with the other boy. The Slytherin, as expected, did not stop, but he didn't start insulting Harry, either. He kept to Hermione mostly, vicious little jabs that grew worse and worse.

_He looks like Sirius like this_, Harry thought, and instantly hated himself for it, but the images still came; Sirius, teenager Sirius, as he was in Snape's memory, the same Sirius Harry had been unconsciously trying to forget. The colours were all wrong, but the eyes were the same: pale grey, malicious, and so hard; they were like Sirius's eyes when he tormented teenaged Snape. _Snivellus_, Sirius had mocked, and his mouth had the same smile Malfoy wore now: sharp and gloating and hopelessly cruel, with the same delighted, hateful curl to it as when Malfoy curved it around the word 'Mudblood.'

Harry had hated Sirius then. It had only been for a minute, and he hadn't realised it then, and wouldn't admit it now, but it had been there. Harry had known bullies, and had been as much a victim of them as Snape had been. He hated bullies, and Sirius was even worse than James in the memory, and now Sirius' impossibly handsome face became mixed with the blonde boy in front of him; not as handsome but good-looking still, with the same aristocrat features and high cheekbones and maybe his hair was blond where Sirius' was black. That didn't matter now, though. _Because the eyes, the eyes are the same_, and Harry stopped thinking and punched him.

Malfoy ducked – Quidditch reflexes – but not quickly enough and Harry's fist caught him in the shoulder. The Slytherin stumbled from the blow and fell, his eyes widened in panic, and he grabbed Harry's arm in the typical Malfoy attitude of "if I go down you go down with me, Potter," and they both fell. Malfoy's hand got trapped between Harry's head and the floor, and he landed on top of Harry. The Slytherin's knee was awkwardly between Harry's own knees, and Harry, still in rage, thought _I hate you so much right now_, and _I learned how to fight dirty from Dudley_. He brought his knee up hard. Malfoy folded in a very satisfying way, then he returned the favour by pounding his fist into Harry's side and probably breaking half his ribs, or at least that's what it felt like. Harry gasped out in pain and all hell broke loose between them.

They were all snarls and knees and elbows and fists and scratching fingernails. Harry started to overpower Malfoy, and then he felt the dizziness take over again, abrupt and like a fist to the head – which might have been – joined by a feeling of nausea he hadn't experienced before. _Damn, no, not now of all times,_ he begged desperately. He could feel Malfoy slowing down – the boy had no stamina – and it was important, so important, that Harry win this fight. There was something bigger at work here than just a stupid squabble between school boys about some nasty insults, but he wasn't sure what it was. His vision started to fade, and black spots appeared in front of his eyes. Harry could see Malfoy's bared teeth and the strange fire in his eyes before the world dropped out from under him and went black.

He felt someone pull him up, and struggled to open his eyes. He saw two shapes that sort of looked like people bent over him, trying to pick him up. "Are you all right Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded and struggled to stand up with Hermione's, and the other person's (who turned out to be Seamus) help. He felt something warm trickle down his chin, which tasted like blood in his mouth, and his entire body hurt like hell. He forced himself to stand straight despite the urge to curl somewhere and never get up again. "I'm fine," he said, and thanked Neville when he handed him his glasses timidly. One lens was broken, but he jammed them on anyway, and Hermione tapped them with her wand and fixed them.

"Are you sure you're fine?" she asked. "You look pale."

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth.

When Professor Shacklebolt came out a few seconds later, the situation went from bad to worse. It wasn't that Harry particularly cared about the detention or the house points he lost, although he supposed the rest of the Gryffindors weren't so thrilled about it. It was the disappointment in the Auror's eyes when he looked at him, the _I thought you were better than that, Harry _look. Harry was also angry at himself. He had lost his calm to Malfoy again and fell into his obvious trap. Most of all, he had thought, even though it was only for a minute, that Malfoy and Sirius were the same.

_How could you even think that?_ he yelled at himself. So what if they had the same blood, so what if they had the same eyes? Sirius was a good person, he worked for the Order, he was James's best friend and Harry's Godfather, and he was someone Harry loved. _A lot of people are jerks at fifteen_.

_Malfoy is sixteen, _Harry's brain decided to argue_. That's not much older. And he never sent another student to his death, to a werewolf, no matter how much he had hated them. _

_Shut up_, Harry told his brain. Sirius wasn't the same.

_But if Sirius came around, there is still a chance that Malfoy would, isn't there? _

_He would never_, Harry argued. _His father's a Death Eater, for crying out loud_.

_Funny_, the same voice said. _I thought Sirius' parents were Dark Wizards, too_.

"Harry!" Ron yelled, and Harry jumped. "Let's find Ginny and get you fixed up. Come on, you're bleeding all over the floor."

"Can you believe the nerve of him?" Ron fumed as they made their way to where Ginny was studying. "Picking on us because he was bored or something, not that I would expect anything else of him, the snake – but he really had no reason at all. In fact, you ignored him for the past week, didn't you Harry?" he frowned. "In fact, it really doesn't make much sense."

"He got angry at me because – " Harry hesitated, "because Susan Bones smiled at me a lot during the last few days, and I think – I think he fancies her."

"Malfoy fancying someone? Urgh. Bad thought. Yuck." Ron shuddered, "Poor Susan."

Hermione made a small sound, something between a snicker, a snort and a frustrated sigh. "Really, Harry," she said briskly, sounding angry for some reason, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you are just so blind and stupid sometimes." And she stormed away, muttering darkly to herself.

They both blinked after her. Finally, Ron let out a low whistle "Mental, that girl. What is she on about?"

Harry shook his head, at as much of a lose as Ron.

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Well, people, you know the drill -- Read and Review! I promise eternal love, since I doubt chocolate would survive mailing.


	11. A nasty fight and a detention

Ahhh! I am SO SORRY this took so long! It was actually ready a month ago, but certain circumstances were in the way of things. It is not Betad, so I hereby apologize for any mistake (as you know, I am not a native English speaker, and there is only so much a girl can learn on her own). Hopefully, chapter 12 will be up soon -- I already have five pages of it, and hope to finish the rest soon.

Eleventh chapter, in which there is detention, blushing and much name calling. Draco is a girl, Harry is all swoon-y (and not in a good way), and Hermione proves, once again, that though she is brilliant and nothing escapes her notice, she has a problem when it comes to handling the things she discovers.

Also, the plot takes a leave of absence. Enjoy!

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Draco fought with Pansy's words all the weekend. His first instinct was to deny it. Him, in love? Not likely. But after having those words in his head for two days, he couldn't help but wonder: _What is love, exactly? How can I know, if I'm in love or not?_

He loved his parents, he was sure of that, and they loved him. They weren't all that close – his parents were very busy people, after all, what with his mother's social life and his father's endless research and ministry work and business-related travels. But they made sure he had everything he wanted, from broomsticks to toys to books. They encouraged him to invest in his studies and praised him when he got good grades. They gave him all that he ever needed. Surely, that was love.

He loved Pansy, too, in a completely platonic way. He cared about her opinion and cherished her approval and enjoyed her sense of humor. He took pleasure in her company. He liked to make her laugh, liked to have her attention, liked the fact that she fought for his attention, too. Above all, he trusted her, which was something he wasn't sure he could say with complete honesty about his parents.

There was Professor Snape, which he respected more than anyone else, there was Blaise, which he could always play a game of pick-up Quidditch with and who grew on him with the years. There were many kinds of love.

He knew Potter was important to him. He wanted his attention more than anything in the world. He desperately wanted his respect.

He wanted to kiss him. Wanted to touch him, yes, to do more than just touch him. He wanted Potter to kiss him and touch him back. But did he want more?

He thought of Pansy, and the way he would sometimes do utterly silly things just to make her smile. He thought of doing the same with Potter: telling a joke, making a fool of himself, seeing the corners of Potter's mouth twitch, before widening to a grin. He remembered the way he would sometimes bring odd stones he found at the gardens to his mother, when he was younger. Flowers that caught his eye, a special leaf, to please her. He thought of him and Potter, sitting side by side, him holding out a feather and saying: look, see the pattern here? The way the lines cross, it looks like a star – and Potter would shake his head and say: only you, Draco, could see something like this, but he would be smiling nonetheless.

And Draco realized_: I want that, too._

He didn't want just something physical; he wanted the friendship as well – the smiles and the private little jokes and the comfort of intimacy and familiarity, wanted to be able to poke Potter's nose or pull at his hair and say: you look like a haystack, Harry. Did you lose your hairbrush? Do you even own one?

He thought about the way Potter brushed even Granger and Weasley off sometimes; the way he would close up, his eyes dark and his face darker, the way he would stalk about the castle, the way he would snap at them for no apparent reason. And he thought: _I want that, too. I want to be shouted at and punched, if it means that afterwards I can hug and comfort and calm Potter down. I want the whole package._

_When it comes to Harry Potter, I want _**everything**

He closed the book he was pretending to read, and sighed.

_I just don't know what to think anymore._

On Monday, at breakfast, a school owl landed beside his plate, bearing a note. The note announced that Draco's detention would take place tonight, at nine o'clock. He was to meet Filch in the entrance hall. Draco looked up and saw Potter holding a similar note, a resigned expression on his face.

He couldn't help but think of the fact that he would be spending at least two hours alone with Potter.

At eight thirty he was in his Dorm, frantic and anxious. "Blaise!" he yelled, "Have you seen my hairbrush?" Blaise looked up from his essay. "Your hairbrush, Draco?" he said incredulously. "You actually own a hairbrush? And why would you even care about how your hair looks? You're going to a detention, for Salazar's sake, not a date – "he broke off very quickly, as a look of realization crossed his face. His eyes narrowed.

Luckily for Draco, Pansy knocked on the door that moment. "Draco?" she said, coming in, and then, when she saw both their faces "oh, for the love of – Blaise, leave us for a few moments, will you?"

When Blaise stalked out, muttering to himself, she turned to Draco. "Right. What's all this nonsense then?"

Draco stared at her, and then collapsed on his bed. "I feel so stupid," he whispered, his face in his hands. He felt the mattress sag as she sat by him.

"You are, a little," she admitted.

"Thanks," he glared at her, but he didn't have the heart for it so it probably looked quite pathetic.

"Draco, listen to me for a minute, all right? I know how you feel, and I know how much you want him. And I'm the last person" her voice caught in her throat "who wants to see you unhappy. But, well…" she turned to look at him seriously. "As far as you know, he's straight. And even if he wasn't… he doesn't like you. That's the truth" she added hurriedly when she saw him flinch, and put a comforting hand on his. "Not that you didn't give him reason to. I'm not attacking you – I just – I don't want to see you hurt. And you will be, because chances are, you will never have him".

He bit his lip. He knew she was right, but it hurt to hear it, nonetheless. Part of him was grateful that she cared about him that much. Another part hated her for saying what he tried to ignore.

"Don't go chasing after unattainable dreams, Draco. They'll keep you running forever, taunting you with some new sliver of hope every time, but in the end, you will find you have wasted your life chasing nothing".

He got so angry at her right then. It didn't matter that she was doing it out of concern, that she only did what she thought was best. Like every other young person, Draco liked to think he had everything open before him, with a little effort; liked to believe he was invincible. And like every other young person, he didn't like people telling him he wasn't.

"Do you listen to your own advice, Pansy?" he said, his voice cold.

"W-what?" she said, staring at him.

"Just because I don't want you, doesn't mean I don't have a chance with him. Maybe I can make him like me back – maybe he's more forgiving than you or me. Maybe I can make him see me differently – you don't know, and you have no right to tell me it's impossible!" he shouted the last words.

Pansy looked hurt, an expression of pain on her face. "I just want what's best –" she tried.

"You don't know what's best for me! That's for me to decide! And it's my decision to take a chance, too, even if I can get hurt from it, even if I will end up chasing something that was never there!"

"Draco, that isn't what –"

"I don't care. I don't want to listen to you right now. Leave." Pansy tried to say something again, her eyes welling up, but he just pointed at the door and shouted "get out!" Her eyes hardened, and she hissed "fine! Go ruin your life, see if I care!" and stormed out. Right into Blaise.

Blaise's face looked caught between shock, irritation and disbelief. Pansy muttered an apology and disappeared. Blaise and Draco stared at each other for a moment, at a loss for words, and then Blaise seemed to reach a decision. He stepped in, closed the door carefully, and turned to face Draco.

"First of all, what the bloody hell? Second, you are one of the greatest prats I have ever had the misfortune to meet. You had no right to yell at Pansy like that, she only wanted to warn you, you great idiot, and she's your best friend. You ought to treat her better than that. Third," he took a deep breath "I know we established the fact that you an idiot, but I always thought you had at least some meager shred of intelligence. Apparently, I was wrong. What did you think you were doing, shouting about something like that? In the middle of the Slytherin Dungeons, no less. Do you want this to be all over the school? Do you want the whole house of Slytherin to know your fixation with Potter has evolved into an even worse state? Do you want this to get back _to your parents_?"

Draco opened his mouth to yell at him, too, which seemed like a very good idea just then, but than thought better of it. Blaise did have a point, about the shouting at least. Instead he stepped closer and said quietly "how much did you hear?"

Blaise ran a hand through his hair in agitation "everything".

Draco closed his eyes briefly. "Damn".

"Yes, that pretty much sums it up. Lets pass the boy factor, though, although I never had you pegged down as a shirt-lifter –"

"I'm not!" Draco immediately protested, horrified.

"Well, sorry, but I think wanting to kiss a boy qualifies as a definite step into poofdom".

"I don't want to kiss any boy," Draco admitted, having figured this couldn't get much worse. "Just… just him".

"Oh," Blaise said. Then "so you don't want to kiss me?"

"No!"

"You don't have to sound so appalled" Blaise muttered. "What's wrong with me, exactly? Not green eyed enough for you? Maybe I should invest in a pair of glasses? Paint a scar?"

"Blaise!" Draco hissed, mortified. "Why are you even – that's not the issue – do you want me to kiss you?"

"No!" Blaise assured him quickly "I'm all about the ladies. Absolutely. No pillow-biting for me".

"Then why – ugh, that's not even the point!" Draco found himself completely confused with the way this evening unfolded.

"The point? Oh, the point! The point is –" the dark-haired boy lowered his voice "Potter? Of all the blokes in school, you had to choose him? Mister high and mighty, goody-goody, resident hero, not to mention the boy who put your father in Azkaban, shamed and dishonored you, and to top it all, hates your guts?"

"You forgot to say straight," Draco said, getting angry again.

Blaise looked thoughtful "oh, I don't know, him and Weasley always struck me as awfully close – Draco, are you all right? Draco!" he patted Draco on the back until he finished choking.

"Ugh. Blah! Just… don't say that. Ever again."

"Getting possessive, are we? Alright, alright, I'll get back to the point. The point is – what the hell were you thinking? You can't possibly fancy yourself in love with Harry Potter!" to his defense, he did manage to shout quietly.

"Well," Draco was horrified to find himself blushing. Almost as horrified as he was at finding he was actually discussing this with Blaise, of all people.

Blaise stared at him in shock. "You're blushing! You're not having me on! Oh, Draco, you've got to be the daftest person in the world. This is so bad I can't even begin to comprehend it. Oh, you've done it now, how are you going to get yourself out of this mess? Oh, wait," his eyes hardened. "You're not, are you? You're going to be utterly stupid and try to go after him, aren't you?"

Draco glared back at him "why are the both of you so against this? It's my life –"

"Why are we against this? I can't believe you're even asking this. Draco, it may be your life, but you're our friend. It's our job to tell you when you're getting into something way over your head. And this – this isn't getting in over your head, this is something that will cause you to end up six feet under!"

Draco sighed, unable to hold on to his anger anymore. "Haven't you ever wanted anything that was hard to get, Blaise?"

Blaise's expression softened. "Of course I did. We're all human, after all. But I never wanted something impossible".

"You don't know if it's impossible," Draco tried.

"Oh, right, sorry. The day Professor Snape and Longbottom announce their marriage and Hermione Granger will burn the library down, I'll get you and Potter a nice broomstick closet, all right? You'll have little flying pigs instead of cupids".

"This is not funny, Blaise."

"Oh, I know. It's so sad I just want to burst out crying".

"I know you think it's impossible – and it probably is," he added reluctantly at the other boy's pointed look "but I never wanted anything so much in my life."

Blaise frowned "surely, you're exaggerating. What you want more than anything you have ever wanted is a few kisses and gropes in some abandoned classroom with Potter?"

"No. No. I – do you think – see, this is where it gets complicated…"

Blaise stared at him, and then realization hit. "Oh. Oh, I see. You don't want only kisses, do you. You actually want – I can't believe I'm saying this – you actually care about him. You actually _feel_ about him!"

Draco passed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "Ye – yes. And this is why neither you nor Pansy can -- can change my mind".

Blaise sat down on his bed. After a long time he shook his head and gave Draco a half-hearted smile. "If you're really sure about it," he said "you're old enough to make your own choices and dig yourself your own graves. I hope you succeed, then. I hope you'll be happy, you old fruitcake. If there's anyone stubborn enough to make Potter change his mind completely over something so drastic, it's you." Then he suddenly grinned "just spare me you and lover-boy going all googly-eyed over each other, will you?" At Draco's scandalized expression, he added "and if you make it any easier on him in Quidditch, I will personally make sure you can never enjoy Potter to your full potential, are we clear on that?"

Then he sobered. "Just one word of advice, Draco. Whatever happens, no matter how this turns out, don't advertise this".

Draco raised his eyebrows "what do you think I am, a complete idiot? Don't answer that".

Blaise made a face, and then added "and apologize to Pansy".

Draco nodded "I know".

They both smiled at each other, and than Draco said "I'd better go".

"O, Right, detention with the love of your life. When does it start?"

"Piss of, Blaise," Draco smirked. "You're just jealous. Nine".

"Oh, um, that's too bad. Because it's a quarter past nine now. And just for the record, I have nothing to be jealous of. As you recall, I am not a pansy, unlike someone else in this room, who obviously is".

"Piss off," Draco repeated, and then yelped "What? Quarter past nine? I'm late!" and started looking around frantically, muttering "my hairbrush, my hairbrush…"

Blaise threw a pillow at him "you don't own a hairbrush, you enormous prat. Now go, you're already late for your date with your Weasley-snogging boyfrie- Ow, that bloody hurt, you git!"

8888888

Harry spent most of the weekend cooped up in a room with Professor Shacklebolt, catching up to the things they haven't gotten around to doing during the weekend. It was just as well, since Hermione was still cross at him. Neither Ron or him understood why; when they asked, she just huffed, glared at them, and then left for the library, announcing she had better things to do then explain extremely obvious things to them, _and if it's enlightment you're seeking, Harry Potter, go bother someone else_.

"Do you think it has something to do with Susan Bones?" Ron had asked. "I always thought Hermione rather liked her. Ooh, do you think it has something to do with Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. Hermione was probably just angry at him for getting into a fight with Malfoy – high on the list of Very Stupid Things in her book – and losing them all those House points – which was even higher.

Nevertheless, he was here with the Auror, practicing his ducking and blocking skills. Speaking of which –

Harry ducked as a stunner hurtled straight towards him, and countered with a body-lock, which the Auror waved aside as though it was a fly.

"With all due respect, Professor," Harry tried, rolling out of the way of another one "a stunner? On a student?"

"You are a special case, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt answered dryly, and sent another one on Harry's way. "Trust me; the Death Eaters will fire much worse things at you. And if you would use shielding charms instead of blocking me, I think you will not be this tired. But it's your choice, of course".

_I can't_, Harry thought, ducking again. _My shields are not strong enough –_

The Auror cast a blasting curse at him, and Harry realized, in the space of one moment, that he couldn't duck this one_. Oh hell_, he though, raising his wand and knowing he wasn't going to be quick enough, wasn't going to be able to utter the spell in time, and he readied himself for the blow –

But instead the Auror was flung against the wall, the back-fired spell tearing clear through his shield, and Harry thought: _what had just happened?_

Then he noticed the way the air around him shimmered slightly, with an almost invisible bluish colour. A shield. _But I don't remember casting one…_

Meanwhile, Shacklebolt picked himself off the floor. He winced as he straightened, and his hand went to his side. But he was smiling. "That," he said "is what I'm talking about".

"Sir," Harry protested, "I didn't cast any shield". The Auror stopped smiling, and looked almost puzzled "of course you did, and a fine shield at that".

"I didn't say the spell –"

Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows, and then he started to laugh. "Oh, so that is what you did." At Harry's confused expression, he elaborated. "When you were younger, your magic tended to get out of control sometimes, didn't it? When you were angry or scared".

Harry nodded.

"As you get more experienced with using your magic, your control over it increases. No magical leaks, no magical energy getting out of hand. But you, Harry, are a remarkably strong wizard, even now – far stronger than most adult wizards." At Harry's disbelieving snort he shot him an amused look. "There is no doubt about it. That shield you have just erected was a stronger shield than I could ever hope to cast. Not only did it reflect my curse fully – a strong curse from a fully trained Auror, against a sixth-year, may I remind you – but it also pierced my own shield and caused me damage".

"Sorry about that, sir," Harry hurriedly said. "I didn't mean to –"

"Yes, I was just getting to that. As I said before, you are an extremely powerful wizard. It will take you much longer than most to achieve full rein over your magic. And now, you panicked – that is not something to be ashamed of, Harry, there's no need to deny it – and instinctively, you have put up a shield. You knew the spell, and you cast it without actually using your wand. Not unheard of, although it is not common".

"Oh," Harry said, feeling less confused and more worried now, for the older man was obviously hurt. "Sir, shouldn't you go to the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm more than capable of continuing the lesson," the Auror assured him, and then took a step and grimaced. "Then again, perhaps you are right. Over all, I think we can say this lesson was a success. At least we now know what you are capable of. Although next time, do try to use your wand."

Harry flushed, and then something crossed his mind. "Sir, those curses you were firing at me – they couldn't cause me real damage, could they? I mean, obviously not, or else you wouldn't have used them on me, but if, say, I wouldn't have erected that shield…"

The Professor laughed "they could cause quite a lot of damage; they are not children's hexes. But you are protected by so many protection spells, you would not have suffered permanent damage".

Harry blinked, suddenly suspicious "protection spells?"

Shacklebolt nodded "Of course. Dumbledore's put them on you after the end of your fourth year, and they cannot be removed, so you have nothing to worry about."

Harry's eyes narrowed "the Headmaster didn't tell me about this," he said.

"You are his student, Harry," Shacklebolt turned to look at him "you may be a powerful wizard, and you may be Harry Potter, but you are still not his equal, and you will treat him with the respect he deserves. He does not have to explain or inform you of anything. Is that clear?"

Harry's voice was cold as he answered "with all due respect, Professor, this is something between Professor Dumbledore and me, which you are no part of."

"I suggest you keep your temper under control, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt said. "You may have been granted special privileges, and I may be fond of you, but I am still your teacher and I will not hesitate to give you another detention, should I feel you deserve it. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Sir." Harry's voice couldn't have been colder if he had tried. At this moment, he didn't like the Auror at all.

"Dismissed."

He left for the Hospital Wing, and Harry walked back towards the Gryffindor tower, in a worse mood than he had been in all week.

When he entered the dorm Ron took one look at his dark expression and made a face. "Shacklebolt overworked you, did he?"

"No," Harry answered shortly, and the redhead, more attentive then usual, didn't press further on the subject. Instead he cautiously offered an exploding snap game.

"Yeah, sure, why not," Harry answered, and made to move towards Ron's bed. Then his head started spinning, his vision faded as abruptly as though someone had removed his glasses, and he was enveloped in darkness.

When he came to, he saw Ron's anxious face peering at him. "Harry?" he asked quietly, "how are you feeling?"

"Ugh, like someone had hit me over the head with a broomstick. What happened?"

Ron pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning. "You went very pale and just collapsed. You hit your head on the floor when you fell, so that's probably why it hurts." He ran his fingers over the back off Harry's head "yeah, you've got a bump starting to form there, alright," he leaned closer "you're eyes look sort of unfocused. Come on, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey –"

"Oh, is this a bad time?" Seamus' voice rang from the doorway and Ron hurriedly straightened "I didn't mean to disturb anything – just what I was disturbing, by the way?"

There was a peculiar expression on his face, like uneasy amusment. He was standing half inside, one hand on the doorframe, his eyebrows close together.

Ron, amazingly, didn't turn red or jump away. "Very funny, Seamus" he answered "Harry fainted. Help me get him up, won't you? I want to take him to the Hospital Wing."

Seamus immediately rushed over, his expression turning concerned. He kneeled by them. "Fainted?"

"I'm fine, really," Harry protested. Shacklebolt was in the Infirmary right now, and Harry really didn't want to see him again so soon. Not until he had a little time to cool off. Right now, he would probably just snap at him and earn himself another detention.

"Sure you are, Harry, but I'm taking you to Pomfrey. Here – " Ron and Seamus put their hands under his back and helped him to sit up.

Harry closed his eyes as his head swam again. When it was over, he opened his eyes to find both the boys staring at him, their faces serious. They pulled him upright and he staggered, leaning heavily on Ron. "It's nothing," he insisted. "Just used too much magic and didn't rest afterwards. I'll go lay down. It'll be over soon".

"Are you sure?" Ron said. "Even if that's the case, I think it's better to have Pomfrey look at you. Just to be on the safe side".

"No," Harry said. "I don't need to go to Madam Pomfrey. I just need a little rest".

They both looked doubtful, but they helped him to his bed nonetheless.

Ron went away to search for something in his trunk, and when he returned, he handed Harry a chocolate frog. "Here, eat this" he told him. "It'll help you restore your energy quicker. I still think you should go to the Hospital wing".

"Thanks," Harry said and took the chocolate, removing the wrapping and breaking off a twitching leg. He ignored the rest of Ron's sentence. _I will_, he thought. _Later_. _When Shacklebolt isn't there_. Then he fell asleep.

When he woke up it was already dark, and by the soft sounds of snores around him, he deducted it was very late. Or very early. _I'll just go in the morning_, he told himself, and went back to sleep.

When he woke up again it was Monday morning. All the boys shot him concerned looks as he made his way to the showers (he didn't actually think Ron and Seamus would have kept quite about it, but it was nice to hope). When he got downstairs, Hermione threw herself at him. _When did she get so short?_ He thought, and then, more urgently, _air_.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I had no right to be annoyed at you, it's not your fault you're dense sometimes," she mumbled into his chest. "I got really worried when Ron told me you passed out." Then she drew back and gave him an accusing look "He also said you wouldn't go to Madam Pomfrey".

He shrugged, which was a little hard since her arms were still around him. She let go. "It was just because I used to much magical energy –"

"Yes, Ron said that, too. He wasn't convinced, and I'm not, either. We're going now, Ron will save us seats". When she opened his mouth to protest, she tugged him after her "you'd better not argue with me, Harry James Potter, if you know what's good for you".

Madam Pomfrey agreed with him, though. After subjecting him to a dozen different spells, she smiled and said "well, Mr. Potter, I can find nothing wrong with you. It happens, sometimes, when a wizard or a witch casts a spell too draining. It's the body's way to protect itself, to ensure you won't do yourself any more damage. I suggest you take it easy for a few days, but you needn't be concerned".

"See?" Harry said to Hermione as they hurried to breakfast. "You were just worried for nothing".

"There's no such thing as worrying over nothing when it comes to you, Harry," she grumbled, but reluctantly agreed not to bring up the subject again.

_This explains all the other events, too_, Harry thought. _The dizziness, the headaches_. It was with a much lighter heart that he sat down to eat then it was in a long time.

In the middle of breakfast a school owl landed by him, dropped a piece of parchment in his eggs, stole a piece of toast, and took off. Harry retrieved the note. "Detention tonight, nine o'clock".

Hermione looked up from 'The Daily Prophet'. "Because of the fight with Malfoy?" when he nodded, she frowned "who's supervising?"

Harry grimaced, "Filch. Which means he'll just stick us in the dirtiest room he can find and leave us for a couple of hours while he goes to polish his whip and chains somewhere."

Hermione's frown deepened "alone?"

"Yes. What, are you worried? I can handle anything Malfoy throws at me. He won't be able to hex me behind my back or something of the sort. We probably won't even have our wands".

She mumbled something that sounded like "it's not his hexes I'm worried about…"

"What?"

"Never mind. Just, be careful, all right?" she sounded a little nervous.

Harry narrowed his eyes "Hermione, I'm always careful around Malfoy. Is there something you're not telling me?"

She refused to answer, which raised his suspicions, but there was nothing to be done about it.

At a quarter to nine he got ready to leave. Being late for detention usually resulted in points taken off and more work. Hermione abandoned her essay. "Where are your robes?"

"Hmm?" he looked at the overlarge sweater he was wearing. "They're my last clean set; I figured it wouldn't matter if I showed up in Muggle clothes."

"But, But –" Hermione seemed flustered, which was indeed A Very Rare Thing. "Harry, then borrow robes from Ron, or Seamus! You can't go out like that!"

"Why? Hermione, you've been acting rather strange today…"

"Well, what if one of the teachers saw and took off points?"

"I'll just explain."

"But –"

"But what?" Harry was getting annoyed.

"Oh, leave it. Just – Don't be too charming or anything."

Harry shook his head. "Hermione, sometimes I think I will never understand you."

He got to the Entrance Hall at two minutes to nine; Filch was already there, looking as foul-mannered and gleeful as always, with Mrs. Norris sitting near his feet. Malfoy was nowhere to be found.

Filch scowled and led him to the Hospital Wing, where he handed him a bucket and rag, told him to clean the floor and left after he confiscated his wand. Harry glared after the Caretaker before getting to work.

After about twenty minutes Filch returned, pushing a very irritated Malfoy before him. He gave Malfoy a rag too, took his wand, gave it to Madam Pomfrey who was in her office, and left after cackling at them a last time.

Harry looked at Malfoy, who was still standing near the entrance. "Well?" he demanded "if you think I'm going to be the only one working you are very much mistaken."

He expected Malfoy to retort with something nasty, or at least sneer at him, but the blonde said nothing; he only dropped to his knees next to Harry and the bucket, wetted his rag, and started scrubbing the floor as well.

They worked in silence for some time; the only words they exchanged were when Harry said "I'll go change the water, they've gotten all filthy". He was surprised by the neutral atmosphere; if this was anyone other than Malfoy, he would have even gone as far as to call it friendly.

It was already very late when something that puzzled Harry happened. He and Malfoy had inserted their hands into the bucket at the same time; Malfoy had jumped back so quickly when their hands touched that he had unsettled the bucket and spilled the slightly dirty water all over the floor, getting their knees soaked. His face was awfully pink, his eyes wide, and Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him this uncomfortable before. Without thinking, he asked "are you all right?"

It was even stranger when Malfoy answered "fine," instead of telling him to mind his own business, coupled with an insult. Harry stared at him. Malfoy stared back. He could feel himself blushing although he could find absolutely no reason why. He cleared his throat, and Malfoy jumped a little. _What was going on with him?_ Was this what Hermione was so anxious about? Malfoy was certainly acting strange. And he was blushing, too, there was no doubt about it.

"We should get back to cleaning," he said.

"Cleaning? Oh, cleaning, right." The Slytherin averted his eyes quickly, grabbed the bucket before Harry could and hurried away, presumably to fill it. There was a strange rigidness to his back; not hostile, but something Harry didn't understand.

They continued cleaning; Harry felt Malfoy watching him; every time he raised his head to look at Malfoy the blonde turned his head quickly away, pretending he wasn't, but his red cheeks gave him away. Harry was getting more and more nervous.

Just when he was about ready to snap and shout at Malfoy to stop staring at him, Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. "Oh, Harry, dear, it's you who got detention? And mister Malfoy, I see" her tone was distinctly colder when she addressed Malfoy. She smiled at Harry "how are you feeling, dear? No more passing out, I hope?"

Harry shook his head, embarrassed; didn't she know not to talk about humiliating things in front of Malfoy, of all people? He saw Malfoy staring at him again, and refused to meet his eyes.

"Well, you two can go; you should have been in your beds long ago. Leave the bucket and rags here, I'll return them to Argus. And no dawdling in the halls! Off you go." She handed them their wands.

Harry thanked her and hurried out. He could hear Malfoy behind him, walking quickly to keep up. At the Entrance, they parted ways, Harry taking the staircase going up, In the direction of the Gryffindor tower; Malfoy taking the one down, to the dungeons.

Hermione was waiting for him in the common room despite the late hour, and he wasn't surprised. He sat next to her. "All right," he said, turning to look at her "what's wrong with Malfoy?"

She looked at him carefully "what do you mean?"

_If you want to play games, Hermione_… "He was acting very strange."

"Oh?"

"He was… pleasant. Polite. Didn't try to get me into any trouble. And…" he hesitated.

Hermione looked at him sharply "and?"

"He kept blushing, I don't know why."

She sighed. "Harry, this is something you have to figure out for yourself. I can't help you, not in this".

He let out a frustrated noise "I wish you'd stop talking in riddles."

"I don't know if he'll pose any danger to you – he may be more dangerous now. But I don't think he will hurt you intentionally."

"Hermion, this is _Malfoy_ we're talking about. When doesn't he try to hurt me?"

"Just… you've never been particularly careful around him. You have to remember, you are not boys anymore. And you can't take him as lightly as you did until now. Act with caution when it's Malfoy you're dealing with, all right?"

He nodded, as he could tell he wouldn't get anything else out of her. "Yes. I promise."

He touched his shoulder affectionately "good night."

"Good night."

No one was up when he entered the dormitory, and Harry changed to his pajamas and went to sleep as well.

8888888

Draco arrived at the Entrance Hall to find both Potter and Filch gone. He swore; he would get into trouble over this, no doubt. He decided to wait – surely Filch wouldn't give up so quickly on a chance to torture a student. As he had expected, Filch showed up a few minutes later, and his face broke into a nasty smile as he saw Draco, revealing two rows of crooked yellow teeth.

_Blagh, _Draco thought_. Doesn't he ever brush his teeth? I think I can spot a bone from the last Christmas Turkey there, stuck between the third and fourth tooth._

The Caretaker, after promising him many more detentions to come for being late, pushed him towards the Hospital Wing.

_Get your filthy hands off me_, Draco was irritated; _I shall never be clean again_.

Filch shoved him through the door and stuck a rag in his hand – Draco shuddered to think where it had been before – and left. Draco found himself staring at a very annoyed Harry Potter. Potter was on his knees next to a bucket, scrubbing the floor, and he had obviously been there for some time now.

"Well?" he said angrily "if you think I'm going to be the only one working you are very much mistaken."

He was wearing a red sweater which looked familiar, although Draco couldn't say where he saw it before, instead of his school robes. His Black hair was getting in his eyes, and a few strands were matted to his forehead, as though he pushed them away before with his wet hands.

Draco knelt next to him and started cleaning, too. It was awfully hard for him to concentrate, though; Potter was very close, and Draco could smell him, soap and broom polish and pumpkin juice from dinner. He kept seeing him move out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of red when he moved, black head bent low.

They worked for some time, Draco getting edgier and tenser as each minute passed, and when their hands touched when they both made to dampen their rags again, Draco was so startled he jerked and tipped the bucket over, flooding the floor and their legs in soapy water.

He could feel his face burning, as did his hand, and when Potter asked, out of the blue, if he was alright, his tone only a little bit exasperated and not at all hostile he barley managed to choke out "fine." He stared at Potter, at his green eyes that were now confused, at his face. He thought: _he's obviously a boy. I can't even claim I'm attracted to him because he's feminine or pretty or something of the sort._

"We should get back to cleaning," Potter said.

"Cleaning?" Draco asked stupidly, and then felt the urge to hit himself on the head. "Oh, cleaning, right." _Smooth, Draco_. He was sure he was never as red as he was now in his life_. Stop thinking about Potter's eyes_, he yelled at himself_, and get a grip! Even if Potter's eyes _are_ very, very nice to look at_. He looked away and his eyes fell on the empty bucket, and he jumped on the opportunity to get away, even for a minute or two.

When he got back it was even worse, though, because Potter's wet trousers kept clinging to his legs, making wet rustling noises every time Potter moved even a little, and every time they did, Draco just had to turn around and look. By the time Madam Pomfrey came to dismiss them, he was at the end of his rope.

She cooed a little over Potter, who seemed distinctly uncomfortable because of it, and then she asked "how are you feeling, dear? No more passing out, I hope?" and Draco turned to stare at Potter sharply. Passing out? What was she talking about? Was he unwell? Well, there was clearly _something_ wrong, even if it seemed Potter was trying to deny it.

They left after Madam Pomfrey gave them their wands back, and Draco was itching to ask about her comment, but he knew he couldn't. Tonight had been a success, with absolutely no animosity between them, even if there was suspicion and Draco had made a complete idiot of himself. If he asked, Potter would take it as mockery, and everything would be ruined. So he held his tongue.

They parted at the Entrance Hall; Draco watched Potter go until his thin frame disappeared in the darkness, and only then did he continue.

Pansy was awake when he got back, despite the fact that it was after midnight and they had just had a huge row before. He hesitated, and then came to stand before her.

"I'm sorry about what I said," he offered, and they both knew that was all he was going to say, and even that had cost him a great deal. Draco almost never said he was sorry, almost never admitted he was wrong.

Pansy studied him closely, and then smiled a little smile. "I accept your apology." And that was that.

888888

The characters aren't acting like I want them at all: pout : How do you beat your characters into submission? Do you play nice? Do you threaten? Do you tie them up and no more chocolate frogs for you, Draco, until you learn to behave? I am at a loss. This is just NOT ON.


	12. Start of the Quidditch Season

Author's note: OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG!

That said, I will explain: busy times, and then my computer (with most of the twelve chapter, might I add) crashed, and my file was gone faster than you could say Oliver Wood in a thong. And then I was, understandebly, not in the mood to write it again for some time. And then HBP threw me off course...

But enough rambling, here it is now.

Twelve chapter, in which there are blueberry scones, silliness, Quidditch, and quite a big cliffhanger. Enjoy!

888888

The other boys were just waking up as he left the bathroom, and Blaise squinted at him through glued together eyes, only half open. "How was your night?"

"What?" Draco said, blushing very darkly, before realizing that was not what the other boy meant. "Oh, oh, the detention," he said, as Blaise frowned at him in suspicion. "It was all right."

"All right," Blaise echoed. "All right, as in 'he didn't hex my bits off', or all right as in," he looked around and lowered his voice, despite the fact that all the other boys already left to shower "'there was progress'…?"

Draco tugged on a wet strand of hair, sending cold water dripping down the back of his neck "all right as in 'there was progress'. Definitely."

"Good, good." Blaise said. "And what kind of progress, if you will? If there are any snogging or groping bits," he added hurriedly "leave them out, please."

"The 'he didn't hex my bits off' kind of progress," Draco admitted sheepishly.

Blaise shook his head sadly. "You are a doomed man, Draco. Doomed."

"Thanks a lot!" Draco called after his retreating back sullenly. "See if I ever tell you anything again!"

The bathroom door clicked shut.

Draco huffed, and decided, in a vengeful course of action, not to wait for Blaise.

And, he added, with great satisfaction, he would make sure no blueberry scones (which were Blaise's favorites) would be left when the git finally dragged himself to the great hall.

Even if Draco would have to eat them all himself.

Pansy slipped into the space next to him a few minutes after, and reached for the toast. "Morning," she yawned.

"No, don't eat that!" Draco said "eat this." He pushed a scone into her hand, slightly squashed from where he was keeping them under the table.

"I hate blueberries, Draco." Pansy stated, and looked at the basket he was holding in his lap. "Why did you confiscate all the blueberry scones? You hate them even more than I do."

"It's vengeance!" he explained, biting into a scone and making a face. "Blugh."

"I… see. Against who, may I ask?"

"Zabini, the utter bastard."

"Aha. And how, exactly, is stuffing yourself full with scones going to help? Are you going to throw up on him?"

Draco was too busy choking on a blueberry to answer.

Some time later Blaise walked into the hall, and dropped opposite of Draco, who tried to give him the evil eye and pinch his nose while biting into his fifteenth scone simultaneously.

"You look constipated," Blaise said as a way of greeting, and then "Potter's staring at you. Morning, Pansy. Who ate all the blueberry scones?"

Draco choked again and said "what?" very loudly while spraying crumbs. Pansy rolled her eyes and patted him on the back, then reached out and grabbed hold of the basket he was hiding.

"He did."

"But he hates them," Blaise said, reaching for the basket "hey, all those are bitten into!" he started inspecting them "every one!"

Draco cackled from amidst a sea of leftover baked goods. Then he started coughing.

"Why you sad little wanker!" Blaise said, outraged, cradling the basket to his chest.

"I am evil," Draco agreed, then sobered. "What did you say about Potter?"

"He's staring at you, you complete fruitcake- ungk…"

"No name calling," Draco said, dislodging his heel from the other boy's shin. "Not of that kind. Looking at me?" he added anxiously. "What kind of looking? Good looking? Or is it… bad looking?"

Blaise lobbed a half-eaten scone at his head, which Draco easily ducked. "Merlin, you're tight. I don't know. Bad looking?"

"Bad looking?" Draco repeated in a tiny voice, shrinking in his seat.

"He looks confused. But not angry. So maybe it's good looking? Oh, just see for yourself!"

Draco sneaked a look at the Gryffindor table. Potter was indeed looking at him, a frown on his face; But he looked bewildered, anxious even, not annoyed. Their eyes met, and Draco blushed, turning around quickly.

"Right." He said. "Good looking, I think."

"You're all red, Draco," Pansy observed neutrally. "Toast?"

88888

And then November came, and with it the beginning of the Quidditch season. Draco didn't see Potter that much, outside of lessons, since they were both awfully busy, but he felt things were not quite as hostile as before between them, which made him happy. He struggled to juggle all his N.E.W.T-level homework and his captainship, and he was finding it more difficult than ever. Potions, thankfully, was still relatively easy – at least compared to the other classes. But charms was living hell – he was never particularly good with that area of magic, nor with transfiguration – and he was forced to spend hours on those subjects just to stay in the required level.

Of course, that wasn't to say he was faring badly; many people were failing, left and right, getting D's and even a T here and there on assignments, being assigned extra practice on new spells. Draco sank as low as to get an A once, in transfiguration, but he had just grinded his teeth and redoubled his efforts.

It was a wonder, then, how he managed to find time to come and watch the Gryffindor practice.

Oh, of course he told himself he was just checking out their strategies, observing the new additions to the team. But deep down, he knew he was lying to himself. He just wanted an excuse to stare at Potter for a while.

He brought his DADA notes outside with him, feeling guilty about having free time and not actually doing any work, but they were soon forgotten by his side. He sat in a protected area in the stands – as protected as the stands got, at any rate – curled into his cloak and scarf, his hat pulled low over his ears and forehead.

The notes rustled by his side, but his undivided attention was on the sky, where seven brooms were zooming about. He immediately spotted Potter, even though it was impossible to see faces from this far, and they were all wearing hats. He had a distinct flying style that could not be mistaken for someone else.

Draco followed him with his eyes, watching as he flew lazy loops around the pitch, weaved between the tall gold hoops. He didn't even seem to by trying to find the snitch, just reveling in the freedom the air gave to him.

Draco smiled to himself as Potter dropped in an impossible dive, and then drew up in the last possible minute. Anyone else, and they would've broken their necks. Draco himself wasn't suicidal enough to even try something of the sort.

He wondered what it would be like, to fly **with** Potter, instead of against him. He was willing to bet Potter and Weasley flew together all the time, not that Weasley was any match to Potter. He huffed; he himself was much more suited as a flying partner. He knew he was the only one able to provide any competition for him in this school, after all.

The flyers were landing now, one by one, and taking that as his cue, Draco got up and made his way towards the castle. He felt much more at ease, and was able to proceed with his homework with the concentration he needed.

His own practices were merciless; he held them early in the mornings and late at night, working his team relentlessly, ordering them to repeat their moves again and again, until every move was honed to perfection. When they complained, he said "do you want to win or don't you? We have lost too many times, and I do not intend to lose again. If anyone here does not feel the same way, he should tell me now! You must work together perfectly, effortlessly, as though you're reading each other's mind! Now do it again!"

Of course, that wasn't the real problem. The real problem, as Blaise had put it, was Draco himself. After a particularly grueling practice Blaise had exploded and yelled "it doesn't matter how good we are, how much we score and how many throws I'll block! The team who'll win is the team that will get the snitch, and we already know that's not going to be us, so lay off!"

He hadn't apologized, of course, since they both knew he was right; but he supported Draco the next time the team complained, and that was as good as any apology.

And the days passed.

88888

Harry was slowly breaking down from the stress he was under, and he knew it as much as everyone else. He wasn't getting enough sleep, he wasn't eating enough. He had bags under his eyes and was constantly exhausted. He fell asleep on his homework when he worked in the library or in the common-room, and was woken up by Hermione or one of the other Gryffindors. He had trouble concentrating on the lessons and his spell-work was suffering as a result. He never found enough time in which to do all his essays, and he often stayed up until the small hours of morning to finish them all, but they were never good enough anymore.

He knew his friends were worried. Hermione suggested more than once that he'd talk to Professor Shacklebolt, to Dumbledore, and ask them to relieve him of the extra lessons, even for a few weeks. Ron – shockingly enough – even suggested he'd resign from the Quidditch team, at least until he had a little more time. It was a sign of how much he was worried, if he was willing to suggest it when their first match was barley two weeks away.

Harry refused, of course.

"Nonsense," he told both Hermione and Ron. "I can handle it. I'm fine. I'll manage to squeeze everything in". When Professor McGonagel asked him to stay after class and admitted that his grades were slipping alarmingly, he said "right. I'll work harder, I promise. Really," and she sighed and dismissed him. He started asking Madam Pomfrey for pepper-up potions, for energy boosters, for anything that'll help him get through the day. At first she refused, but after a while she gave up.

"It won't last for long, dear," she warned him "and it'll become less and less effective every time. What you really need is rest, and you can only cheat your body for so long before it'll start taking it's revenge on you. Before you'll collapse".

"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey," Harry assured her, just as he did everyone else.

I'll rest in the weekend, Hermione. Just one more day, just one more week, Madam Pomfrey, _please_. Just to last through Quidditch season, Ron, and then I promise I'll take it easy.

Hermione frowned but let it go eventually. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, but in the end gave in and just patted his hair and gave him another vial. Ron shook his head at first, but after a while said "only till the end of Quidditch Season, right? And then you promise you'll take a break?" and Harry promised, just like he promised everyone else.

Like he promised himself, when he sat yet another endless night, staring at the parchment in front of him, the textbooks blurring in front of his eyes, his bed calling for him. Just a little more, I can do it, I have to do it. Just a little more, and then I'll be able to rest.

It was just easier that way.

888888

The day of the first Quidditch match dawned cold and windy, but as clear as it could've been. Gryffindor versus Slytherin, Potter versus Malfoy. One of the two most exciting games, since it was usually Gryffindor and Slytherin that participated in the last match for the house cup, the last match.

Draco surveyed the great hall from his place between Goyle and Blaise. There was a nervous and excited buzz in the air, that made Draco's blood hum in his veins. He felt alive and aware of every tiny detail of his surroundings.

He was not nervous, really, at least not more than usually. He had trained his team to the best of his – and their – abilities, and he'd just have to count on that and trust them. He'll just have to keep Potter from getting the Snitch until Slytherin was in the lead by at least a hundred and sixty points, so that even if Potter caught the snitch it wouldn't matter.

When it was time to go he got up confidently, sending a cocky smirk in the direction of the Gryffindor table. He couldn't see Potter, but Weasley saw him and glowered, making a cutting move in front of his throat: you're dead, Malfoy.

Draco smirk widened and he mouthed back "you'd wish, Weasel." It was so satisfying to see the redhead turn as red as his hair.

Draco grinned at his team and led the way out of the hall. He had a feeling it was going to be a good game.

In the changing rooms he gave a pep-talk which consisted equally of "you're the best and don't you doubt it for a moment" and of "if you dare lose I'll hang you from the hoops by your testicles". All in all, they were in rather good spirits when the entered the Quidditch Pitch and faced the Gryffindors.

Draco's good mood evaporated, though, when he saw Potter.

The boy was standing in the back, half hidden, but it was the first time Draco managed to get a decent look at him from this close in the past two weeks, and he was shocked. He looked tired and sick, his eyes sunken, black bags under them that the glasses didn't quite hide. His mouth was pinched and colourless, his face pale and gaunt. He had lost some weight since their detention, not that he had been all that heavily built before.

He looked simply awful, more like a shadow of himself then anything else. And yet, Draco didn't feel disgust, just pity and a gnawing worry, and a strong urge to grab Potter by the hand and drag him into the infirmary.

Someone coughed behind him, and he started; Weasley met his eyes, frowning in suspicion, his hand extended forward for the customary handshake between captains.

_Right_, Draco thought, and, forcing his thoughts away from Potter, shook Weasley's hand briefly. They mounted their brooms, and were off.

88888

Harry was shaken awake, though gently, by Ron.

"Morning," Ron said, his voice as forced as it had been for the last few days. "Quidditch match, yes?"

"Right," Harry mumbled, and dragged himself out of bed with difficulty. He had gone to sleep rather early yesterday – even Hermione insisted about it, and had practically wrestled his books out of his hands and pushed him in the direction of his dormitory – but instead of feeling refreshed, he could barley keep his eyes open.

He glanced longingly at the drawer containing the vials he got from the Madam Pomfrey, but didn't open it. He wasn't sure if it was legal, taking an energy boosting potion before a match, and he wasn't about to risk disqualifying his team. He would just have to make do without them.

At breakfast he played with his food – Hermione kept urging him to eat, and he was doing it without much enthusiasm – and then it was time for them to leave.

Ron gave them a zealous pep-talk – really, why was every Gryffindor captain channeling Oliver Wood? -- And then they were off to the pitch. The calls and clapping of the audience were giving him a headache.

"Mount your brooms," Madam Hooch called, and then they were all rising into the air.

Harry settled into a slow loop above the rest of the players as the game started under him. Both the teams were good, he could see it would be a close call. Most chances were that the team whose seeker caught the snitch would win. Harry wasn't planning to lose, and the odds were certainly in his favour.

As he flew slowly, looking for the snitch, he started to feel light-headed. _I really should have listened to Hermione and eaten more_, he thought. He shook his head, but the feeling wouldn't disappear. _And now my glasses are all dirty_… how could they have gotten dirty so suddenly? They were fine a minute ago.

He cleaned them on his uniform quickly, but everything still looked blurred. And now there were black spots on the lenses, too. How was he supposed to see the snitch if his glasses were dirty? He cleaned them again, but to no avail. He still couldn't see well.

_Dammit_, he thought, and tried to swallow. His breath caught in his throat, and he started coughing. _Dammit, dammit, bloody hell_! What was wrong with him? He had to concentrate on the game! They were going to lose, because of him, Ron's first match as captain and they were going to lose –

His throat was burning, as were his lungs, and he couldn't seem to stop coughing. He couldn't really seem to breathe, either. He leaned forward on his broom, one hand at his throat. His head was spinning, his eyes watering, and blood was pounding in his ears, drowning out every other sound.

His mouth was filling with a strange, metallic taste that he knew but couldn't place, and everything just seemed so fuzzy suddenly. He wiped at his mouth, feeling something drip down his chin, coat his tongue, and something small and golden zoomed passed him.

The snitch.

He made a grab for it, lost his balance, and then he was falling… and everything went black and quiet.

88888

Draco circled around the Pitch, keeping one eye on Potter and one eye around him. Potter was circling, too, without much aim. They both knew that most games the snitch wasn't spotted in the first five minutes, but they were still on their guard in case it did.

The game bellow him was already on full force, the players zooming furiously, their faces tense. The bludgers were being whacked with vicious force. His team was working together perfectly, but the Gryffindors weren't that far behind them. Slytherin was leading already, twenty points to ten.

He glanced at Potter; the boy was frowning as he cleaned his glasses on his uniform, before putting them on. Than he removed them and cleaned them again. Draco noticed his hands were shaking, and growing concerned, he drifted closer.

Potter put a hand on his throat, as though it was paining him, and then started coughing. Draco tensed. Should he alert Madam Hooch? Slytherin was in the lead, and they would kill him if he stopped their momentum now, especially if it was because of Harry Potter – and maybe Potter just swallowed the wrong way, maybe it was nothing.

But even as he argued with himself, Potter's coughing didn't stop; it only got worse.

_I'm going to go call Madam_ _Hooch_, Draco thought worriedly, and then Potter wiped at his mouth, leaning forward weakly on his broom, and Draco gaped in horror; for as he did so, he smeared his mouth and the side of his face with blood. Blood he apparently coughed up.

_This isn't good_, Draco thought, and flew towards him, but Potter made a grab at the air next to him – the snitch! – and tumbled off his broom. The snitch hovered near his firebolt, which stayed in midair.

Without giving the snitch a second thought, Draco dove after Potter.

Trying not to think about what he was about do, Draco wrapped his legs as securely as he could around his broom, and leaned forward, catching Potter around his torso. The broom gave a horrible lurch and almost threw Draco off, but he managed to stay, though he slipped to the front of the handle. Potter nearly slid through his hands, but Draco caught him under his arms and pulled him up on the broom with him. Then he carefully maneuvered the broom to the ground.

Madam Pomfrey and the rest of the teachers were already hurrying towards them, as well as many of the students. He saw the rest of the players land around them, but his attention wasn't on them.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he called, as he laid Potter gently on the ground and kneeled next to him. He checked for a pulse – weak but there. It felt so strange against his fingers, fluttering and elusive, and for a minute he was so scared he could barely breath.

She kneeled next to him in no time, immediately starting to check the unconscious boy. She conjured a stretcher and carefully moved Potter onto it. "Come with me," she told Draco, and started in the direction of the castle.

He ran to keep up with her. "Is he going to be all right? What's wrong with him?"

"Mister Malfoy, what happened, exactly?"

He blinked "he started coughing. I kept an eye on him – in case he saw the snitch before me, of course " he blushed, but she nodded impatiently and he continued "—and I saw his hands shaking, so I moved closer, and then he just started coughing blood and fell of his broom. Is he going to be all right?"

"Was he hit by a bludger?" Madam Pomfrey asked as they were nearing the Hospital Wing.

"Not that I saw. Why aren't you answering my question?" He demanded angrily, but she ignored him as she pushed the floating stretcher through the doors.

"Run back and get Professor Snape and the Headmaster, Please, hurry" she said shortly, and moved to close the doors.

"Is he –"

"Now! Go!"

Draco turned around and ran.

When he arrived back at the pitch it was in total chaos. The teachers were trying to group the students, but without much success – the Gryffindors were demanding to know what happened to Harry while the Slytherins demanded to continue the game as soon as their captain and seeker got back. As soon as they saw him, they all burst out into a fresh bout of shouts.

"-- Malfoy, where is Harry –"

"—What did you do to him, you bastard –"

"-- Draco, they're not letting us continue the game –"

"-- Tell us now!"

"-- I demand that Slytherin'll be acknowledge as the winner, then –"

"Shut up!" Draco yelled, and they all ceased at once, more out of shock than of anything else. "Just shut up. Professor Snape!" he spotted his head of house nearby. "Professor, Madam Pomfrey asked me to come get you, and Headmaster Dumbledore! She said to hurry…" he trailed off, out of breath from his wild run back.

Professor Snape frowned, and then he nodded, his mouth thinning. "I'll get the Headmaster, Draco. You stay here and organize everyone. I want every Slytherin back in the common room by the next fifteen minutes."

"She said to hurry –"

"I heard you the first time," Professor Snape snapped, and left, presumably to get Dumbledore.

"Right," Draco said to himself, and looked at all the suspicious faces around him, both Gryffindors and Slytherins. "Right. You lot…"

He ignored the Gryffindors, whether they made pleas, demands or threats, and soon enough all the Slytherins were heading back to the school, guided by the prefects. He let out a sigh and started to climb, too.

"Malfoy," a cool voice spoke behind him.

He turned warily. "Granger."

"What happened?"

"Why do you think I would tell **you**, of all people?" he sneered. "Piss off."

"I'll make you a deal," she offered evenly, not impressed by his brush-off.

"A deal, Granger?" he raised an eyebrow, though he was intrigued. "What kind of deal? I don't want anything from you, other than for you to get as far as you can from me."

"Haha," she said, glaring at him. "Actually, I think there is something. You tell me what happened up there and what Madam Pomfrey said, and I," she gave him a cold smile "will inform you of Harry's condition as soon as I'll know something. I'm bound to know before you."

"And why do you think I care about Potter?" he asked, though he was suddenly nervous.

She seemed amused. "Come on, Malfoy. Neither of us is stupid. I've seen how you look at him –"

"In disgust?" He offered. "In burning and eternal hate?"

"In worry," she smiled again. "In jealousy, when someone else is near him. In possessiveness –"

"I don't –"

"You blush."

"I do not!" he yelled.

"You're blushing now," she pointed out.

"I am not." He denied it, but dammit, he could feel his face heating up.

"Fine," he said "I am not acknowledging any of what you said, because it's obviously all lies –"

"Obviously."

"But I'll tell you, if only to get you to leave me alone."

"I'm glad you've seen the light, Malfoy," she smirked.

After he finished, she was looking a lot less cheerful. In fact, she was downright fretful.

"Thanks," she said, and started heading back.

"Wait," he called, and she turned. "Remember our deal. You tell me when you know something."

She nodded and left.

Draco rubbed his eyes and followed her back in.

When he got back to the common room, everyone swarmed him at once, some about Quidditch, some about Potter. He waved them all off irately and stomped off to his dorm.

Blaise looked up when he entered, as did Crabbe and Goyle. He looked angry.

"And that," he demanded, "was not 'throwing away the game'?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose "this is **not** a good time, Blaise."

"Oh, on the contrary, this is a bloody great time –"

Draco held up a hand. "Crabbe, Goyle, leave. Now."

They grunted but did as they were told.

"I did not throw the game," he stated.

"Really?" Blaise snapped. "Because it sure looked like that. The Snitch was hovering right in front of your face – all you had to do was pluck it out of the air – and you choose to swan-dive after your boyfriend instead! We could have won! Fair and square! And you threw it all away! I can't believe you!"

"I wouldn't have managed to catch the snitch and still catch him!"

"You should've gone for the snitch instead, then! The teachers would've taken care of him!"

"You don't know that for sure –"

"That's what they're there for! In case things get ugly!"

"Look, I panicked, okay? I admit it! I was wrong! Are you happy now?"

"No," Blaise stated bluntly. "I'm not. You threw the game away. **You** made us **lose**."

"He was coughing blood! And then he fell of his broom! And I was supposed to concentrate on the snitch?"

Some of the anger seemed to leave Blaise. "You need to get your priorities straight, Draco," he said. "This is not good for you. Potter… he's messing with your head. Forget about him. Please."

"I can't, all right? He's in the hospital wing! And Madam Pomfrey wouldn't answer me when I asked if he was going to be okay, she just switched the subject! And then she sent me away!"

Blaise shook his head. "You're taking this too seriously, Draco. He'll be fine – Madam Pomfrey can fix just about anything. You never got this worried about Pansy or me."

"You never coughed blood!" Draco pointed out.

"Touche," Blaise conceded to the point. "But still. Calm down. I'll bet he'll be at breakfast tomorrow, and if not then at lunch."

"Right," Draco said, running a hand through his hair and then making a disgusted face. "Of course, you're right. I'm going to take a shower."

"Have fun," Blaise said dryly.

But Potter wasn't at dinner, where his absence hung over the Gryffindor table like a great, depressing cloud. And he wasn't at breakfast, or lunch, or dinner the next day, either. And Draco didn't like the miserable expression on Granger's and Weasley's faces one bit.

At breakfast the next day he couldn't hold himself any longer and motioned to Granger towards the doors as soon as he caught her eye. She gave a tiny nod and he stood up and left.

Two minutes later, she came out, too.

"Well," he said impatiently as soon as she approached him. "Where is he?"

Up close he could see her eyes were red and filled with unshed tears, and his insides twisted painfully.

"Oh, Malfoy," she said, and sniffed, her voice hoarse as if she was crying "he's not – He's not waking up."

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Ha! Cliffhanger! I'll try to finish the next chapter soon, and if my computer would be nice and would not crash again, then maybe I'll actually be able to post in soon.

But isn't Draco adorable when he's pissed? He is so not cannon-ish. And apparantly, my Blaise isn't as well. Well, fancy that.

Read and review and you will own my soul. Though it's dark and full of dust bunnies, so I'm not sure if that's such a great deal. Toodles!


	13. Starting the Countdown

**A/N**: So, yeah! Next chapter! I stand by my word, it was soon. Unfortunately, it'll take a while before the next chapter will be up. I'm going to be really really busy for a while now, I'll only be home during the weekends. I'll try to write during then, but I think I will be sleeping most of the time. So I'm asking you to be patient, please.

Chapter thirteen, in which there is lots and lots of angst, Draco frets, insults, and finds out something that comes as quite a nasty shock, Harry is unconcious, and there's a kiss. Enjoy!

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_"Oh, Malfoy," she said, and sniffed, her voice hoarse as if she was crying "he's not – He's not waking up."_

Draco stared at Granger, not really processing what she had just said. It was ridicules – Madam Pomfrey could fix anything, couldn't she? She re-grew bones and removed tails on a daily basis. Surely she could deal with a little internal damage?

But Granger was looking as though she was on the brink of breaking down, and besides, she didn't seem like the type to lie. Weasley, maybe, he could see playing such a prank on him, but not Granger. And she wasn't that much of an actor, anyway.

"But," he started, and stopped because he wasn't sure what he was about to say. But it's not serious, is it? Not dangerous? It's not like Potter was in any grave jeopardy, not like he was about to die, right?

"What caused it?" he asked instead.

She passed a quick hand over her eyes, and he cringed inwardly. She wasn't about to start bawling, was she? He couldn't handle that, too. Thankfully, she composed herself.

"They're not sure –"

"**They're**?" he frowned.

"Well, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape and the healers they called from St. Mungos."

Healers? From St. Mungos? But that was – that was for serious stuff, not for –

"It seems – it seems something's 'eating' him from inside –"

"Eating?"

"Not like an animal," she hastily corrected herself. "Something that's feeding on his magic. As you know, a Wizard's magic is an essential part of the Wizard, he depends on it –"

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the obvious, Granger. I'm the pureblood here, not you, I know all about Wizards."

"You don't have to be so rude –" she snapped.

"Potter, Granger. Get on with it!"

"As I was saying," she glared at him "the more the – illness – took from his magic, the weaker he grew. We saw the signs, but he kept coming up with perfectly reasonable explanations for them – he was using too much magic and that caused the bouts of dizziness he had experienced, he was not sleeping enough and that's why he was so tired and weak all the time, he was not eating enough and that's why he was losing weight. Oh," she exclaimed suddenly, wringing her hands. "I'm so stupid, I shouldn't have believed him, I should have paid more attention to it, researched it. After that time he had fainted – but even Madam Pomfrey checked him and said it was nothing to be worried about –"

"Granger," he interrupted her, "Granger! Calm down, you're giving me a headache." It was a bit hypocritical, telling her to calm down when he was rather fretful himself, but he needed to know more.

"Sorry," she apologized, and after a few deep breaths, continued. "The fact that he was overworking himself wasn't helping, of course – but he's so stubborn, he'd never admit something was too much for him, he always keeps taking responsibility for everything, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders – it all caused the illness to evolve much faster. And now – he just collapsed. They said – they weren't willing to tell me much, it's not like the fact that he's my best friend gives me any right to know what's wrong with him –" she sounded bitter. "But they told us that his body isn't strong enough to support itself anymore. That whatever it is he has, it's wracking havoc on him. And unless they stop it, he's – he's going to die."

She went quiet, blinking rapidly. Her face had the pinched look of someone trying desperately to hold their tears.

"Die?" he echoed. "But – but they can heal him, can't they? Of course they can. Madam Pomfrey has years of experience, and Professor Snape is one of the best Potion Masters in the United Kingdoms, and, and the healers will surely know what to do…"

"They're…" she seemed to be choosing her words carefully."They're not sure what it is. There isn't any record of a disease like it."

"Maybe it's not a well known disease, then?" he suggested, and she gave him a Look.

"I think they would've thought to check less known ailments as well, Malfoy. It's strange. They say it started by feeding on the protection spells he had on him – are you all right?"

"What?" he asked, staring at her, feeling faint and out of sorts all of the sudden.

"You went really pale… Are you feeling well?" she peered at him in concern.

"Yes, I'm…" _They say it started by feeding on the protection spells he had on him…_ "I'm… you said… that can't be right, can it?"

She frowned "you're not making sense, Malfoy. I think you'd better sit down…"

"No, no, I – the protection spells? But that's – it was only… it can't be…"

Granger took a step backwards, looking suspicious. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"I need to go," Draco said abruptly, and turned to leave without waiting for her response. He stumbled and caught himself on the wall painfully, scraping his knuckles against the rough stone and breaking the skin.

"Malfoy, wait –" she called, but he barely heard her as he hurried to the nearest loo.

_They say it started by feeding on the protection spells he had on him… but that means that I… that because of me he… but that's impossible, the spell was only supposed to remove the protection spells, not cause any damage! It didn't say anything about something like this, it didn't, I'm sure of it!_

He hurried into one of the empty stalls and retched. When he was done, he leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cool surface, and closed his eyes.

_Think logically, Draco. Think._

He'll look at the spell again – he still had the parchment somewhere among his belongings. There had to be a way to reverse it, and it would be written there. With a new sense of propose, he got up, washed his face with cold water, and left for his dorm.

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_"…He's not responding to it. We've tried at least thirty potions by now, and nothing works! I never came across anything like it…"_

_"… It's a matter of days before it'll get to the press, and then all hell will break lose… People are terrified enough as it is, but when they'll know that Harry Potter is dying they'll…"_

_"… Don't say dying! He's my student, and I'm not about to lose him…"_

_"… Not one of us wants to lose him, Poppy. But our time – and his – is running out! We don't know what's caused this, we don't know how to stop it, we don't even know how to slow it down…"_

_"… We'll find a way, we have too…"_

_"… I wish I was as optimistic as you…"_

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Unfortunately, Draco was hindered on his quest, by none other than Professor Snape. The man looked down at him, his eyebrows coming close together in disapproval.

"Shouldn't you be in class, Draco?" he asked.

"I forgot my books in my dorm," Draco lied without batting an eye. In fact, he had left them in the great hall. Pansy and Blaise had probably taken them with them when they left for charms.

"That's rather unlike you," his head of house commented.

"We all have our bad days," Draco answered.

"As I can see," Professor Snape answered, his eyes lingering on Draco's wet face, hair and the damp stain on the front of his robes, as well as on his shaking hands.

"Perhaps the infirmary will be a better place to visit?" he suggested.

"No, I'm fine," Draco insisted, wanting nothing more than to reach his dorm and take out the parchment on which the spell was written.

"Are you sure?" Professor Snape asked. At Draco's nod, he raised an eyebrow. "Then be on your way. Lend a book from someone – tell Flitwick I told you to. You're late as it is. No reason to miss even more."

"But –" Draco tried.

"Now, Draco," the men said coldly, and Draco had no choice but to obey.

The rest of the day dragged on like a gum that spent too much time in the sun. Whenever Draco tried to reach his dorm, some teacher or other – and once even the Head Girl – caught him and sent him back to class, like some daft first year that was caught skiving class. He refused to answer Pansy's and Blaise's questions – both of them weren't speaking to him now, but he couldn't care less. As soon as they were free for lunch, Draco bolted in the direction of the dungeons.

He tore through his belongings with record speed, looking for the parchment. When he failed to find it, he searched instead for the old, slightly tattered book in which the parchment was found hidden. At last, he came upon it, and opened it hastily. He found it under the cover when it was torn, he remembered. But the cover was whole.

He frowned. Maybe he had fixed it? He ran a finger along the cover, where he remembered the tear to be, but it was smooth, even. He wasn't that good with fixing things.

He used his wand to cut the cover open again, and scowled. What was going on here? He distinctly remembered finding the parchment under the leather cover, but the cover was glued to the spine of the book. There was no room for dust there, not to mention for a thick piece of parchment.

_But I remember it was this book. There's even the bookmark I put in it, so I'd remember which book it was!_

Draco sat back on his heels, confused and frustrated. Something wasn't right. Now that he thought about it, it was awfully strange that he found that spell when he found it, exactly the spell he had needed. At the time he didn't pay it too much attention – why should he care where it came from, if it helped him with his plan for revenge? He had simply assumed luck was in his favour, and left it at that.

The parchment was gone, that much was clear, and so was any evidence to its existence. Had he not known it had indeed existed at some point -- _They say it started by feeding on the protection spells he had on him_ -- he would have thought he was going mad, inventing curses no one had heard of and parchments where they weren't.

But there wasn't time for that now. He knew the curse existed, and he was sure he would recognize it, once he would look at it again. Now he would just have to find it somewhere else – and his best bet would be the restricted section in the library.

Professor Snape wouldn't give him a signed permission, of course. So he would just have to get into the restricted section another way.

He pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink, and scribbled something on it. Then he made his way to the owlery.

His eagle owl nuzzled his hand affectionately when he tied the note to her leg. "Be a good girl," he said, smoothing the feathers on her head "take this to Hermione Granger".

Half an hour later he was waiting in the library, in the history books section. It was rather far from the main part of the library where most of the tables were, and he knew for a fact no one would come here. Granger stepped in a minute later, her arms crossed and her face cold. His note was clutched between her fingers.

"You wanted to talk to me, Malfoy?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes," he said, and took a deep breath, before throwing all caution to the wind. "I need a favour from you."

"And what makes you think I'll be willing to help you?" she asked. "You're hardly my favourite person."

"I could say the same about you," he answered, gritting his teeth "but let's stop the pissing contest for a moment, shall we? I need Potter's Invisibility cloak."

"What makes you think I'll give you Harry's cloak?" she exclaimed, and then frowned as something else occurred to her. "How do you even know about it?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on, Granger. Potter's head, floating around Hogsmeade and attacking **me**, of all people? I can put two and two together."

"Well, fine," she grumbled "but what do you need it for, anyway?"

"To get into the restricted section."

"I'm not giving you Harry's cloak so you can break the rules!"

"Will you keep quiet?" he hissed. "The last thing I want is to be seen with you."

"You're such a nasty person, Malfoy."

"Glad you noticed. I need it to look for something – a curse."

"I'm not helping you look for a curse, either! Like I need you knowing more dark magic than you already know." She turned to leave.

"Granger, you cow, wait a minute!"

She whipped around to face him, her eyes flashing. "Now listen here, Malfoy! I'm sick of listening to your stupid insults, and right now, I'm really tempted to just knock you one! Don't think I won't, I already hit you once!"

Not one to take any chances, Draco took a careful step back. "Listen for a minute. I think I know – what Potter has, it's not an illness. It's a curse. That's why they don't know what it is!"

Her face softened a little, which meant she was less likely to hex him now and more likely to listen to what he had to say.

"A curse? Are you sure? How do you know that? Do you know what curse it is? Is this all part of your Death Eater training –"

"Will you keep your bloody voice down?" he snapped, removing his hand from her mouth and making a great show of wiping it on his robes. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know what curse it is. No, I don't know what's it called, but yes, I will recognize it when I see it. I will not dignify your Death Eater comment with an answer. Will you get me the cloak now?"

She pursed her lips. "I'm coming with you."

"No way in hell, Granger. I'm not spending any more time with you than is completely necessary."

"It wouldn't hurt you to be a little less of a bastard, you know."

Draco shrugged. "Why? I don't like you, you don't like me. There are no obligations."

"It's called common courtesy, Malfoy."

"Don't lecture me about manners, Granger. I have impeccable manners."

"When you need to suck up to some one, yes. Tell me, do you prefer boot polish, or mud?"

"Oh ha ha. Look, just send it to me, will you? Before tonight, if possible."

They both became serious. Every minute counted, that they knew well.

"Yes, fine. I'll send it to you by owl by tonight. Make sure nothing happens to it."

"I'm not stupid."

"Really? Could've fooled me." And with that frosty remark, she left.

_Well,_ Draco thought, _that could've gone worse_.

An owl had indeed dropped a package around six. Draco had grabbed it immediately and refused to answer any questions.

He went to bed early, with the cloak tucked under his pillow, after having set a personal alarm to two in the morning.

When the alarm rang, he dressed quietly, grabbed his wand, donned the cloak, and after checking in the mirror (_that's so cool_, he breathed, as he saw no reflection), left the dorm quietly.

He was almost there before he realized his feet had carried to the infirmary instead of to the library. He hesitated, and then decided to continue.

It wasn't like he was forbidden to visit Potter, right? Just for a minute. Just to see him, and then he'll be off.

The doors creaked when he pushed them open, and he cringed, but no one came running to arrest him and throw him in Azkaban. The beds were all empty, except one in the far end that had a curtain drawn around it. Draco approached it slowly, nervous.

He paused with his fingers on the edge of the curtain, not knowing what to expect, and then drew it aside softly.

Potter was lying on the bed, perfectly still, the covers tucked around his shoulders.

There were shadows around his eyes, dark like bruises; shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and in the sharp lines of his face, in the charcoal-like smudge of his lashes against his skin. His pale face was coloured an eerie whitish-silver by the moonlight that came through the window, and his black hair seemed darker than ever, compared to the white sheets surrounding him.

He seemed so different, then, from the boy Draco knew; more of a statue than a living, breathing human being, made of marble and ivory and black silk, with moonlight running in his veins instead of blood and a skeleton of silver and glass, rather than bone. He seemed fragile, a creature out of a dream, likely to disappear any moment, should Draco blink.

More to reassure himself than anything else, Draco leaned forward and pressed a hand to the side of his face. Not warm, exactly, but soft, like human skin should be, with a slight roughness of day old stubble along the jaw. Still alive, then.

"It doesn't seem strange, to touch you like this," Draco whispered, kneeling beside the bed. "It seems… good. Right. I… It doesn't seem wrong to want it."

He passed his fingers lightly along the jaw-line, across the sharp, slightly snub nose, followed the elegant, proud line of the dark eyebrows. He hesitated when he reached the lips, until warm breath startled him, and he flinched away.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "For causing this to you. I didn't mean to… Well, I wanted to hurt you, but I never thought the curse will cause this. I thought it would just remove your protection spells, not… your magic."

He studied the face of the boy lying in the bed; "You're too thin, you should listen to Granger when she tells you to eat more, you're all angles and sharp corners now. I like you in the moonlight, I think; I can tell myself you're so pale and sharp because of the moon and the shadows, and not because you're dying."

He paused, and then continued in a furious whisper. "You won't die. I'm not going to let you die, I promise. I'll go to the library now and find the curse, and then I'll cure you and you'll be well again, and we'll finish that Quidditch game – I'm going to beat you this time, by the way – and maybe you'll even thank me one day. I didn't mean to poison you, so after I save you it won't count, would it? You're a very forgiving person, maybe even too forgiving. Maybe you can even forgive me some day. Maybe you'll stop hating me. Maybe you'll even –"

He blushed and looked away at the ceiling, which he suddenly found terribly interesting.

"I guess you won't. You have tons of girls falling at your feet wherever you step, anyway, so why would you want me? Even if you were into boys, you probably wouldn't have wanted me. You're Harry Potter, after all, and I'm – well, a Malfoy, for one thing, and a Death Eater in training, it's practically common knowledge, the way Granger said it so casually. Like it was a fact. Well, let me tell you something!" he rolled his sleeve upwards "I don't have a dark mark! You shouldn't assume things about people, just because you think they're true. They aren't always right."

He rolled the sleeve down, feeling foolish.

"You can't even hear me, can you? I feel like an idiot, sitting here and talking to you, and the floor is killing my knees. Besides, I have to go to the library and find your cure."

He paused.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Draco leaned closer, feeling like he dreaming. The moonlight lent everything a surreal light, making everything seem transparent and otherworldly, giving him enough confidence. He pressed his lips once, quickly, against Potter's mouth, and retreated, blushing darkly.

"It's not like you objected, is it?" he said guiltily. "I'm not going to let you rope me into feeling at fault, it's not like I did anything wrong. It was just – a kiss, for good luck."

He got up, unable to resist touching Potter's face again. "I'll leave now. With luck, by tomorrow you'll be up and about, or at least on the way to recovery. I'll try to talk to you then, too. Maybe – maybe Granger will tell you, how I helped, and you'll be more inclined to listen to me."

With a last look, he left the infirmary, and walked in the direction of the library.

A quick _Alohamora_ took care of the doors, and he snuck in quietly, entering the restricted section. He looked at the books' names, careful not to touch anything unless absolutely necessary. He took out a book here in there, checking in the index, but nothing caught his eye. Then, at last, he came upon a thick, falling apart book, with a faded green cover, and the name "Curses of the Body Magick " written on it in peeling golden letters.

Thinking that it looked promising, he sat down and opened it across his lap. He looked at the list of chapters, written in a confident, graceful handwriting; Magick of the Body, Introduction; Time Triggered Curses; Potion-Dependant Curses.

Feeling hopeful, he opened to the third chapter. He skimmed across the titles until one caught his eye, and he read; a curse that feeds on body magick. Starts by removing any outer magical influences, such as glamour spells, tracking spells, and (Draco's heart skipped a bit) protection spells. Collects strength as it eats away at the magick. Unless stopped and reversed, will use all of the victim's reserves of magick, resulting in victim's death.

This was it. Draco eagerly turned the page, only to have his heart drop to his stomach; the next pages -- the ones detailing the curse and the cure -- were missing, torn right out of the book.

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So, what did you think? I'm sorry about the cliffhanger again (well, not really : evil cackle:), but it seemed the right way to end this chapter. Read and Review, and maybe I'll write chapter fourteen a little faster : grin: but don't count on it.


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